


Sins Of The Father

by DawnRed



Category: Powerpuff Girls
Genre: Alternate Origin Story, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Character Death, F/M, High School, Multi, Organized Crime, Origins, Teen Angst, Teen Romance, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-26
Updated: 2018-04-02
Packaged: 2018-11-19 03:35:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 7
Words: 89,147
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11304855
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DawnRed/pseuds/DawnRed
Summary: The Untonuim girls were deemed the perfect little girls, living a perfectly quaint life. However, life becomes drastically less perfect after the death of their father. Trying to survive and move past their grief, the girls uncover a web of secrets that are all linked to their father and them. What was their father working on? Is it what got him killed? Origin Story. PPGXRRB





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Story can also be found on fanfiction.net under the same name and author!  
> ENJOY!

Blossom can’t remember the last time Townsville had a heat wave this bad, probably not since before she was born.Not only was the heat unbearable but the city was also experiencing its worst drought to date—an unfortunate combination. There hadn’t been any profound rainfall in months and if today was any indication, there would be none for quite some time.Shady areas, pools, and ice cold drinks offered no relief from this inferno. The only sure way to ward off the heat was to say indoors and blast the AC. Which is where Blossom desperately wishes she were, if it wasn’t for two glaring problems. The first being that the AC was completely off limits since the energy bill for it would probably be a whole lot more than they could currently afford and the second being Blossom’s desperate need to find a job.

Thus, frustrated and sweaty, Blossom continues her trek through out the city determined not to go home until she has found a job. Blossom had set out on this mission early in morning with high hopes of getting a job and making it home before noon in order to avoid the escalating climate. However, it was currently five in the afternoon and her job prospects did not look great. She was exhausted. She had gone to nearly every bank, office, and even some clothing and entertainment stores in the downtown area. No matter where she went she kept getting the same response; either they weren’t hiring or they weren’t interested in hiring her.

As the day progressed, and after about the 10th rejection, Blossom started aiming lower with her job prospects. She even went as low as walking into a fast food restaurant to ask for a job. Upon entering the fast food chain, Blossom was hit with a smell of what seemed to be a deep-fried jock strap that completely nauseated her. She took one look at the greasy face of the teen standing behind the register and walked right out. At this point Blossom contemplated just giving up and heading back to the suburbs to ask if a job as a bagger was available at the local supermarket. The pay would be pitiful, but at this point she’d settle for less than minimum wage— her family desperately needed the extra income. 

Blossom didn’t get it. She was smart, assertive, a hard-worker. Why didn't anyone want to hire her? Ok, yes, she was sixteen and inexperienced and yes, she now smelled like a pig and her once straightened hair was a damp frizzy mess and, what was that? Was…was that her mascara running? Blossom tentatively moved a hand under her eyes to confirm that, yes, her mascara was now running on her sweaty face. Annoyed, Blossom stopped outside a nearby shop in order to check herself in the glass’s reflection. _Uggh_ she thought, no wonder no one would hire her—she was a mess—completely unprofessional.

Pulling a napkin out of her purse Blossom began wiping away the smudges left by her mascara when the smell of bacon hit her. It’s at that particular moment that her stomach decided to growl, very loudly, reminding Blossom that she hadn't eaten since breakfast. The smell was coming from inside the diner she had unknowingly stopped by. Her stomach let out another growl, urging Blossom to go inside.

_Ding_

The diner was fairly empty, probably because no one wanted to venture outside with this heat. 

 “Hey Darlin’, I’ll be with you in a second. Take a seat.” Greeted a portly waitress before she disappeared behind the kitchen doors.

Taking a seat at the counter, Blossom let herself enjoy the cool air. The smell of bacon was stronger reminding Blossom once more of how hungry she actually was. Picking up a menu Blossom began to skim it for the cheapest available item.

 “What can I get for you, darlin’?”

Startled, Blossom glanced up at the older waitress asking for her order. She seemed kind, in a veteran-mother-of-too-many-boys kind-of way. Looking down at the menu one more time, Blossom realized that she probably couldn’t afford to get anything without wasting her bus fare, and walking home was **_not_** an option.

“Oh, um…I’ll just have a glass of water please.”

The older woman let out a very unlady-like snort “Is that all?”

Annoyance graced Blossoms face. “Yes, that’s all.” She responded, squaring her shoulders and folding her hands on top of the folded menu.

The waitress offered a small smirk in return as she tuned away from the counter to get Blossom her water.

“What’s the matter kid? Not hungry? Darlin’ I tell you every time it gets hot-ass hell out there all I feel like doing is sitting by the pool an’ eating something greasy and deep fried.”

Blossom apparently pulled a face at the waitress’s last comment because once she turned around she let out a heartfelt chuckle.

“Guess you’re more of a salad girl then.”

“Oh, no.” Blossom responded hastily, she didn't intend to insult the waitress, but her comment had brought up the nauseating memory of deep fired jockstrap “I mean salads are good but so is chicken…or bacon. I’m just not hungry.”And because her day had been going so perfectly, naturally, her stomach decided to growl at that precise moment.

“Yea, well apparently your stomach disagrees. Johnny! One house special, stat!”

Mortified, Blossom tried to convince the waitress, Darcy her nametag read, that she, in fact, was not hungry. “No, it’s fine. I’m just tired and it’s really hot outside. I just wanted to sit in an air conditioned room for a while, really I don’t—“

“Uhh-huh” Darcy cut off her ranting and favored her with an amused motherly glare; one that read ‘Who-are-you-trying-to-kid-I-know-you’re-lying’, or at least that’s what Blossom assumed it to mean, she didn’t have anything to compare it to. What with her never having a mother and all.

Blossom let out a defeated sigh and let her shoulders drop. She gave Darcy a small bashful smile.

“Thank you.”

“No problem, darlin’, wouldn’t want a young thing like you to starve now would we?” Darcy responds with a small chuckle as she once again disappears behind the kitchen doors.With Darcy gone, Blossom folds her arms and rests her head on the cool marble top. _God, this day had not gone as planned AT ALL!_ If there was one thing Blossom hated, was when things failed to go according to plan. _I mean what was the point of a carefully thought out schedule or plan of action if the execution was going to fail anyway?_ Blossom squeezes her eyes shut. _I just wish something could go right for a change._

“What’s wrong darlin’?” Blossom felt a warm hand on her arm. Looking up, Blossom instinctively plastered a fake smile on her face. “Everything’s fine. Just a little tired, it’s been a long day.”

Darcy gave her a wary look, clearly not believing her lie as she placed Blossom’s meal in front of her. Blossom’s stomach growled once more. The meal looked delicious, and Blossom was especially pleased to see that her meal included bacon.Still, Blossom hesitated, she couldn't afford this, not without wasting the little money she had and without it she’d be forced to walk home. _With the luck I’ve been having lately I’d probably end up lost._

Darcy, sensing Blossom’s reluctance, said, “It’s alright. It’s on the house, and before you start your yammering, why don’t you just eat the damn thing before your plate gets cold.”

Darcy is defiantly a mother. Her authoritative tone left no room for argument. Needing no further prodding Blossom began to dig in to her plate, savoring the appetizing meal. Apart from the delicious and much welcomed meal, Blossom began to also enjoy the peaceful quite of the diner.After some time, however, that peaceful quite is shattered when Darcy asks “You’re one of the Utonium girls, right?” 

Blossom curses her luck. If she were Buttercup this would be the part where she cursed and glared at the waitress. _Sigh._ Some days it really sucked to be her. Swallowing her last bite, Blossom places her fork down and makes to leave.

“Thank you for the meal. It was really generous of you.” Blossom flashes Darcy a genuine smile, truly grateful for the free meal and the brief respite from the heat.

“Where do you think you’re going? You haven’t finished your meal yet.”

“I’m sorry, but I should get going, it’s getting late and my sis-um, my family will start to worry.”

Darcy cocks her hip to the side and a frown tugs on her face as she watches Blossom about to leave. “Well…fine. But I expect you back here tomorrow before noon.”

Blossom stops in her tracks and turns back around. “Huh?” Not one of Blossom’s most eloquent moments, she admits.

Amused, Darcy lets out another chuckle “To work, silly. Only employees get free meals.”

Blossom gapes, mouth hanging open like a fish out of water and eyes large like a deer caught in the headlights. Darcy just waits on the other side of the counter, clearly amused at Blossom’s baffled state. After an awkward second, Blossom comes to her senses.

“I’m sorry, I wasn’t aware the free meal came with a catch.” Embarrassment followed quickly by anger flush through her. But unlike her sister, she doesn’t act on these impulses and instead lets out a breath in order to reorient herself. “Sorry, I don’t have the money with me, but I can come back and pay you tomorrow.”

“Or you could just come back tomorrow, get another free meal while making a little extra on the side.”Darcy responds.

Blossom’s eyebrows crease in confusion and slight irritation. “Why would I want to come back and work… _here_?” Blossom admits— _reluctantly—_ that that was rather snobby of her to say, but she wasn’t willing to work at a fast food restaurant and a diner is only slightly better than that. 

“Why not? You’re looking for a job right?”

_Is it that obvious?_ Blossom thinks before a worse thought enters her mind. _She knows who I am._

Blossom slowly approaches the counter top. “What makes you say that?”

Darcy gives Blossom a once over and snorts. “Well you surely ain’t on a date in that get up, right?”

Blossom looks down at her outfit, _what’s wrong with my clothes?_ She thinks. She had on a fitted white button down shirt, which she pressed this morning, and a knee-length black pencil skirt. It was sophisticated, and mature, just like her. This was a classic dress-to-impress outfit; she even had on her favorite pair of Mary-Jane’s. Earlier, she also had on a cream blazer, but it got too hot and she had to take it off.

“Not that I date, but I would wear this on one.”

Darcy blinks. A second later she lets out a big hearty laugh. “Haha! Oh, Darlin’. That’s the best laugh I’ve had all day.”

Blossom tilts her head to the side in confusion.

Darcy takes notices of her confused face. “Oh dang. You weren’t kidding were you?”

Blossom’s cheeks redden in embarrassment at the realization that she was being laughed at. “Well excuse me, but if you’re done with the mockery, I think I’ll be leaving now.”

“Wait!” Says Darcy once she catches her breath. “I didn’t mean anything by it! Really! Listen, how old are you, honey?”

Blossom gives her a suspicious glance over her shoulder, not really sure what she’s getting at. “…Sixteen.”

Darcy snorts. “You sure about that. Seems to me like you think you’re forty.”

This time Blossom doesn’t bother saying anything and heads for the door once more. She’s about to push the door open when she hears Darcy say, “So are you coming tomorrow?”

Blossom whirls around “Seriously? After you’ve just made fun of me? Why would I want to work here after that?”

“Demeaning isn’t it?”

“Well…” Blossom catches the pointed look directed at her, and realizes that Darcy is referring to her previous disgust at working in a place like this. “…yea.” finishes Blossom quietly.

Darcy hums. “You know. I think I was wrong about you.” Blossom looks puzzled, but before she can voice her confusion Darcy continues. “A long time ago a young girl stood where you stood. She was out of money and out of options, so she stood there and asked with her head hung low if there was any way she could work in this here _pristine_ establishment. Boss took pity on her and hired her on as a dishwasher, ‘fore she graduated to waitress that is.”

Blossom waits for Darcy to continue, and when she doesn’t Blossom asks “What that girl you?”

Darcy lets out a snort “No. It was my mama, about six months pregnant with me at the time. ‘Course seventeen years later I stood in that same spot pregnant with my first son. Funny how history repeats itself.”

“I'm not pregnant if that’s what you’re getting at.”

“No. ‘Course not. You don’t date, remember? But I still think I was wrong about you. See, when I saw you come in all tired, defeated looking, and with not enough money to afford a damn sandwich I thought to myself well here’s a girl who’s out of money and out of options. Clearly, I was wrong. Right?”

Blossom stays quite. Despite her words, Darcy’s tone makes it clear that she knows the opposite to be true. There is no doubt in Blossom’s mind that Darcy knows exactly who she is, which is why Blossom is weary of Darcy’s ‘kindness’. _She knows who I am._ She thinks; sounding defeated even in her own head. Not that Blossom is surprised that Darcy recognized her, everyone in Townville knows who the Utonium’s are, which, unfortunately, is not an exaggeration.

Blossom’s family is quite well known in Townsville. Her family has made the headlines of the local paper more times than she cares to admit; of course the latest headline has been a source of… _irritation_ for Blossom and her sisters as it has brought a wave of unwanted pity geared towards them—not that the headlines were any less irritating before…well, just before.

The Utonium’s are household names in Townville, and the reason for that, ironically, wasn’t even a Utonium, at least originally. Barbara Bellum. That’s her—was—her mother and she was probably the most beloved person in all of Townsville. If you knew no one in Townsville, you at least knew Barbara. She was Townsville’s native daughter, the ultimate girl-next door, and a pillar of the community. She was dedicated to helping the less fortunate and cleaning up crime in Townsville. At one point Barbara even considered running for mayor. Everyone always told her she would be perfect for office. Of course that was before Blossom’s father and her sisters entered the picture.

John Utonium, unlike Barbara, was not especially well liked. The reasons for why are fuzzy to her, but she remembers her father telling her it was something along the lines of people not appreciating great minds. It was not until John left Townsville that he became a rising star.He excelled at M.I.T, where he got accepted to on a full scholarship and graduated top of his class. He became attached to various high profile projects and eventually landed a big government job as a consultant, which gave him enough time and money to do his own work; work that to this day still remains a mystery. Despite John’s various achievements and awards, his truest achievement, at least to Townsville, was marrying Barbara Bellum—the belle of Townsville.

Blossom once found an old newspaper article hidden amongst her father’s things. The headline read: FAIRY TALE ENDING FOR TOWNSVILLE’S BRIGHTEST STARS. Underneath is a picture of her father and mother at their wedding cutting the cake. They looked so happy, especially her father. Blossom can’t recall a time where her father smiled as wide and as happy as in that photo. Sadly, her parents happy ending would be cut short a year later when, what was suppose to be the happiest (second happiest?) moment of their lives ended in tragedy. On November 18, seventeen years ago, Barbara Utonium gave birth to three perfect little girls and when she closed her eyes to rest she would never again open them. The headline that day read: TOWNSVILLE WELCOMES THREE LITTLE ANGLES, BUT BIDS FARWELL TO ONE.This was perhaps the newspaper’s highest selling article.

Every year, on their birthday and on the anniversary of Barbara’s death, the newspaper runs an editorial documenting Barbara’s many achievements and the growth of her three perfect little girls.Blossom and her sister’s hate the editorial. It was bad enough knowing that you were responsible for your own mother’s death but to have it shoved in your face all your life, never being able to move past it—that type of pain…it’s not something Blossom thinks she could ever put into words, even with her vast vocabulary.

“You know” Starts Darcy, breaking Blossom from her thoughts. “It’d be nice to have an extra pair of hands around here. It gets a whole lot busier than today lets on. We’ll even hire you on as a waitress, instead of a dishwasher. With a face like yours, we’re bound to get more customers.”

Blossom huffs. If Darcy thinks flattery will work, then she is sorely mistaken.

_Still…_

Blossom bites her lip as she debates whether she should leave or not. Logically, Blossom knows what she should do, what she must do. She _needs_ this job; her sisters and her own well-being depend on it. She knows she _should_ just suck it up, and accept the job offer. Just like a good girl would.

_But…_

She can’t. She just...can’t. She knows exactly why Darcy is offering her this job; she basically just taunted Blossom with the reason. Blossom doesn’t want pity, not any more than she’s already gotten at least. Besides, Darcy isn’t exactly the nicest woman in the world Blossom finds it hard to picture them working together. _Especially since she finds it so humorous to make me the butt of her jokes._

“Well,” starts Darcy once again. Her booming voice breaking Blossom from her thoughts once more. “I can see you need some time to decide. How about you go home and sleep on it, hmm? My shift is almost over, and I don’t know about you, but I’ve got places to be.” Darcy doesn’t wait for Blossom’s reply as she turns toward the kitchen doors. “Oh, and darlin’, you better decide fast, ‘fore somebody else with no money and no opportunities wanders in through that door. With the way things are now, that might be sooner than you’d expect.” 

Blossom watches Darcy disappear into the kitchen, the doors creaking as they close behind her, and then exits the diner.

_DING_

* * *

Less than a minute after walking outside, and Blossom can already feel the full effects of the unrelenting heat. A quick look at her watch reveals it’s 6pm, even though it looks more like high noon outside; regardless, the sun will be going down soon and Blossom better hurry home if she doesn’t want to be caught outside after dark.

_The streets after dark are no place for a young lady._

Blossom continues on in the same direction from before she stopped by the dinner. As she walks she notices that there are less people outside than before, and the traffic is less congested. It seems rush hour has passed and everyone is eager to make it home for supper. That reminds her, she told her sisters that she would be back in time for lunch, and clearly, it’s way pass lunch. She wonders if they’re worried about her. Bubbles most likely is; she can picture her nervously tugging at her pigtails as she waits for Blossom to get home. Buttercup, on the other hand, might not even care. Come to think about it, she might not even be home yet; she might actually get home later than Blossom.

_That girl...._

Given everything that’s happened in the last few months, Blossom has been turning a blind eye to Buttercup’s reckless behaviors. She thinks it’s justifiable; everyone responds to change differently, and Buttercup is especially resistant to change. Still. You’d think Buttercup learn to have some consideration for herself and those around her. If she keeps acting out, Blossom will have no choice but to sit her down and give her a serious talking too. Not something she’s looking forward.

_Sigh._

Blossom takes out her phone to call home, but notices that her phone’s battery is low. Rather than risk it going dead on her she shoots Bubbles a text letting her know she’ll be home soon.

After some time, Blossom checks her watch again. It’s a quarter past 6 and she still has about five more blocks to go before she reaches her bus stop, which, unfortunately, is the only bus that travels to and from the suburbs. Has she mentioned how exhausted she is? Because she is exhausted, really, really exhausted. Her feet are killing her; she is actually contemplating throwing away her favorite pair of shoes, because of how much they hurt. The heat isn’t doing her any favors either. She may have gotten rid of the mascara stains on her face, but she can feel how red her face is from the heat and the exhaustion. She must be some sight— a short, red, and sweaty girl waddling through town. Who wouldn’t want to hire her?

_Nobody._ She thinks bitterly. Except, that’s not the case. After more than 8 hours of searching for a job, she actually found one. In a diner. As a waitress. With _Darcy_. Blossom groans. Her luck was really turning around wasn’t it? Still, it could be worse. She could have gotten hired as a waitress in a diner closer to where she lives, that way everyone from school could come by and make fun of the nerdy Utonium girl. Instead, she can get ridiculed by the rich kids from Central prep, the private school downtown. 

_Lucky her._

She’s being ridiculous. She knows that. But when she thinks about working there, the people she’ll see, the things they’ll say —because let’s face it people will talk; people always talk and it’s always about her family— she becomes anxious. She can picture it now, the knowing looks, the pity, the unsolicited advice, and the whispers. Oh God, the whispers. She’s been through this before and she knows how it’ll go. First, they’ll talk about how sorry they are for her and her sisters. Then, they’ll talk about how brave she is for stepping up to take care of her family, or for not breaking down in public. Lastly, after some time, they’ll start to feel sorry for her again. They’ll feel bad for the girl wasting her youth working at a diner. They’ll talk about her like a has-been, or might have-been. She might have been successful, she might have done something, gone somewhere…if only her father hadn’t died.

_If only her father hadn’t died._

And just like that the floodgates open. A cold sensation sweeps through her replacing the heat and leaving her feeling numb. She stops suddenly and grips her chest. Her heart hurts, it hurts so much that she is painfully reminded why she made the decision to not think about her father in the first place. It’s been nearly 3 months, but it feels as if it were just yesterday that a man in a crisp suit came to her home to tell her that her dad was dead. The pain is still so fresh, so raw; she can’t wait until the day where it no longer hurts like this; but, realistically, she knows that day may never come.

She feels something wet hit her hand and that’s when she realizes she’s been crying. She rubs furiously at her eyes, but it’s as if a dam has broken and all the tears she’s tried to hold back come flowing out.

_I miss him so much!_

Since her mother passed away, it’s always been just her, her sisters and her dad. As the oldest, Blossom took it upon her self to be responsible for her sisters. _And Dad…_ not that he needed supervising, but he had to work hard to support her and her sisters. It just didn’t seem right to add more to his plate. So Blossom made sure she was there when her father couldn’t be. She set a good example for her sisters, made sure they were fed, groomed, did their homework, stayed out of trouble. It came naturally to Blossom to take over where her father couldn’t. But still…even though her dad worked long hours, he was always there; ready to offer a hug, a shoulder to cry on, or simply to listen.

But now she didn’t even have that.

Blossom’s aching heart starts to beat faster. She can feel her blood rushing, making her face flush and her palms sweat. Her breath starts to become shorter and shorter as she begins to hyperventilate.

_No…Not again…Not now._

She spots a nearby bus bench and sits down. She places her head between her legs and tries to take deep breaths. Her hands nervously grip her hair on either side of her head as she desperately tries to slow her heart rate.

_‘Cool, calm, collected,’_ Blossom begins to chant in her head. ‘ _Cool, calm, collected’_ Her breaths start to deepen as her heartbeats finally start to slow. Blossom lifts her head and places two fingers on her pulse point just bellow her chin. She looks at her wristwatch and begins to count.

“1…2…3…”

When she reaches 60 beats per minute, she drops her arms and lets out a breath in relief as she relaxes into the bus bench. She closes her eyes, wielding the last stray tears to stop falling. _I won’t think about him anymore. This is the absolute last time._ She feels bad for pushing away thoughts of her father. She has so many good memories with him; it seems tragic to not be able to reflect on them. But Blossom can’t afford to break down every time she thinks about him. If her and her sisters are going to survive, they need her at her best. This, crying her eyes out on a public bus bench, is _not_ her best.

Shivers start to run through her body, and it takes her a second to realize it’s not her crying causing this. The air has gotten considerably cooler. She looks up and notices the sun is beginning to set. She looks down at her watch and sees it's a quarter pass seven.

_GASP!_

_It’s late._ She really needs to hurry home. Luckily, her bus stop in only about a block away; if she hurries she might make it home before dark. She wipes away the last of her tears and hurries towards her bus stop when, suddenly, she hears a loud noise.

She stops.

She hears it again, a loud crash followed by a blow, coming from a nearby alleyway. The sounds get louder and louder, until she is almost certain that those are the sounds of a physical assault. She is frozen in fear. This type of violence is nothing new in Townsville, in fact, it’s quite the opposite. Crime and gang related violence have always been a problem in Townsville, but in recent years crime rates have sky rocketed to an all time high. It’s barely safe enough to be out alone during the day, but being out alone at night is a guaranteed way of getting robbed.

_Or worse._

_I have got to get out of here._ She thinks desperately. She looks around trying to formulate a plan to discreetly walk away from this real threat. The opposite side of the street is equally deserted, but there are some shops she’s able to go in and hide, if worse comes to worse. She’s about to cross the street—which she is not exactly thrilled about since it requires her to J-walk — when she hears a scream that stops her in her tracks.

“HELP!!!”

Blossom looks around to see if anyone has heard the plea for help. She is the only person on this street, and the vendors on the opposite street are too far away to hear. Not that they’d help. Helping is a sure way of getting yourself hurt.

“HELP!!!”

She looks back and forth between the alleyway and the opposite street, uncertain of whether she should leave or help. _Help?_ Has she gone crazy? What can she do to help? The sounds of the blows and the man’s whimpers get louder. She bites her lip in worry. If she doesn’t do something that man might die, but if she does do something _she_ might die. _What to do? What to do?_ She bites harder on her lip, drawing blood. Neither is an optimal choice, but survival instincts tell her that if it’s between her and some stranger then her wins.

With her mind made up, she, regrettably, makes her way across to the other, safer, street.

“HELP! DEAR GOD! SOMEBODY HELP ME!”

Before she can make it all the way to the other street, Blossom turns back and runs in to the alley. It’s not until she has a clear view of the group of gangsters assaulting the innocent man that she realizes what she’s done. Whatever burst of courage pushed her to help this man has quickly faded away, and she is frozen in fear and panic. There are five of them; huge guys with green bandanas over their heads. Luckily, they haven’t spotted her yet, their attention solely on the poor man in front of them.

“Please… stop!” yells the man.

“What was that? You want us to keep going? Well certainly. BOYS!” 

More of the gangsters join in beating up the defenseless man. It’s more graphic up close. She can hear the breaking of bones, and see blood splatter. At one point they smash his teeth in, and the gargling noise he makes as blood spills into his throat, is enough to cause Blossom to loose her lunch. She dries heaves and the sound is loud enough that some of the gangsters notice.

“Hey! Did you here that?”

“If you mean the sound of his nose breaking, than yea! I heard it! Now stop your questioning, Snake. We’ve got a job to do.”

“But I swore…” the one named Snake trails off as he looks around for the source of the noise. Before she is spotted, Blossom hides behind some nearby trashcans. “…Never mind.” Seeming satisfied with the lack of witnesses, Snake and the rest of the gang get back to their brutal assault.

“Taa…lll…Mmm…” the poor beaten man tries to speak, but his injuries make him impossible to understand.

“What was that? Got something to say?” taunts one of the gangsters. He kicks him in the legs, which causes the man to yell out in pain, and then raises his hand to signal the rest to stop what their doing. The poor man whimpers in pain but uses the opportunity to speak.

“Taall…HIIIMMM…taaa…bud— _cough!”_ He cuts himself of with a series of coughs and wheezes. If Blossom had to guess, the man has a collapsed lung. The man attempts to speak again “Bud..buuuget. Funds…low.” The man struggles to speak and the more he struggles the more confused Blossom becomes. She understands yelling for help, but why is he trying to reason with the gangsters? In fact, why haven’t the gangsters left already? They probably already took his wallet and other valuables. What more could they want?

The man that signaled the others to stop, the leader she presumes, cuts him off with a swift kick to the side. The man groans in pain.

“Shut up! Bossman ain’t looking for explanations, he’s looking for cash.” The leader put his foot on the man’s face. “And guess what?” He says as he pushes his weight on to the severely beaten man. “He don’t see it!” He delivers another swift kick to the side, which the rest of the gang takes as an invitation to continue their beatings.

Blossom watches on in horror. She’s so stupid! Coming in here with no plan. Now she’s about to watch a poor man get murdered. The beating continues, and Blossom is in a full on panic. _OH! If only the police were here_. And like a light bulb going off, Blossom realizes she can call for help. She reaches into her purse to call 911. Her hands tremble as she grabs her phone, and when she pulls it out she’s devastated to see that her phone is dead. _What do I do now!?_

“AAAAHHH!”

The man’s sharp cry of pain startles Blossom and her shaky hands drop her phone. It makes a loud noise as it clanks against the trashcan bins. The sounds echoes down the alleyway. There is no way no one heard it.

The gangsters stop.

“You heard dat Ace?”

The leader, Ace, looks up towards her direction. “Yea. I heard it Billy.” Ace signals for one of them to stay behind with the bloody man, as the rest of them creep closer to where she’s hidden. They haven’t spotted her yet, but given the fact that the trashcans next to her are the only ones in the alley, it’s only a matter of time before they do.

“Who’s hiding over there?”

Blossom bites her lip to keep quite.

“Oh. Are you shy? No need to be shy. We aint’ gonna hurt ya, right boys?” His voice is a cocky mix of teasing and threating. The footsteps get closer and closer. Each step punctuated by some teasing remark; “We’ll be nice. Promise.”, “We’re not gonna bite.” , “I bet you’re just some cute little raccoon, huh?” The last remark makes the group laugh, but all Blossom can feel is fear. Pure, unadulterated, fear.

She flattens herself against the wall of the building she’s crouching next to, and tries really hard to ignore the dirt and grim that is sure to be staining her crisp white shirt. _That’s going to be really hard to get out._ The leader is close enough to her that she can make out his features; long, slimy looking black hair, a small goatee, and a big pair of black sunglasses that sit on top of his crooked nose.

“Olly olly oxen free!” he chants.

She holds her breath and hopes for a miracle. A second later and the universe grants her wish. In the distance police sirens are heard. Ace and his cronies stop in their tracks.

“Shit! Ace, it’s the cops!”

“I hear it!” he shouts angrily. “Let’s get out of here!” He signals the rest of his crew to follow. They all run back in the opposite direction of Blossom. She lets out a breath in relief. Before they leave, Ace stops by the bloody man.

“Consider this a message! Next time we won’t go so easy on you, or that hot little number of yours.” He finishes with a grin, before running off after his crew.

Blossom peaks up from behind the trashcan bins to see, to her great relief, that all the gangsters are gone.

_GROAN…_

Blossom runs towards the injured man. She is no doctor, but even she can see that this is bad. He’s got cuts and bruises all over his face, and his arm and legs are bent in odd angles. He’s sure to have severe internal bleeding as well. She feels awful for the man, especially since she’s not sure how she can help him. Oh! She wishes she had done something sooner, then maybe he wouldn’t have gotten hurt so bad.

_Stupid! Stupid!_

“Heeelll…Heeelllp…me.”

Blossom looks uncertainly at the man, but when she sees the desperation in his eyes she pushes all her negative thoughts and feelings aside. She takes out her cream blazer and uses it to wipe away some of the blood. Then she ties it around his head to stop some of the bleeding.

“Here.” She says. Then she grabs his hand and holds on to it tightly. “You’re going to be airtight.” She says in a firm voice. The man attempts to smile, but it comes off as a grimace. She can hear the police sirens in the distance grow louder —closer.

“I’m going to get you some help, okay. I’ll be back.” Blossom stands and runs out of the alleyway. When she spots the police she throws her arms in the air and yells, “HELP! HELP! STOP!”

The police car stops in front of her, and she starts gesturing toward alley. “There’s a man in there! He needs help!” Police officers run into the alley and when they find the man they call for an ambulance.

“This is Officer Brikowski requesting emergency assistance at once. ”

The officer gives the dispatcher their location, but all Blossom can focus on is the poor beaten man being helped by the police. He’s going to be okay, she thinks hopefully. He’s going to be okay.

* * *

“You said his name was what again?”

“Ace. And there were two others, um, Snake and Billy I think.” Responds Blossom. This is the third time she’s had to retell the story since the ambulance arrived, and honestly she is so drained from today’s events that if they make her repeat herself again she is going to loose it.

The officer hums as he writes down her statement. “So there were three perpetrators?”

“No.” She states yet again. “There were five. With green bandanas on their heads.”

The officer hums in recognition. “Yup. That sounds like them.”

“Like who?”

The officer finishes writing down her statement, before addressing her. “The green gang.”

“Actually it's the gang green.” Says another officer as he approaches them. The first officer, the one who identified himself as Officer Brikowski, snorts. “Po-tay-to. Po-ta-toe.”

The second officer, the younger one, shakes his head good-naturally, before giving her a big dashing smile. “Anyway. Thank you for your statement. That was a really brave thing you did. That man might not have made it if it wasn’t for you.”

Blossom blushes at the praise. “It was nothing, really. I didn’t even do anything. You guys did all the work.”

“Oh, don’t be so modest. You were a real hero today.” The young officer responds with a wink.

Blossom smiles bashfully. She is no stranger to praise, especially in the academic field, but she’s never been called a hero before. _And never by such a cute guy._ The thought makes her blush even harder.

Officer Brikowski’s gruff voice interrupts the two. “Brave, but dangerous. Next time leave the hero stuff to the professionals, dollface. Crime fighting is no place for little girls.”

Blossom’s ego deflates. “Noted.”

“Well,” starts the young officer. “We have everything we need, but we’ll stay in touch if anything comes up. Like, if we need you to ID the perps.”

“Okay.” Says Blossom nodding her head, relieved that she won’t have to retell the unpleasant tale again. She’s about to walk away before a thought occurs to her “What about the man?”

Both officers give her a puzzled look, “What man? The victim?” asks Brikowski

Blossom nods her head.“Do you know his name?”

“Yea. We were able to ID him when we found a nametag in his breast pocket. Name’s Jack Martin, works down in city hall. Ring any bells?” asks the younger officer.

Blossom shakes her head. “No. Sorry. Its just…” She bits her lips thoughtfully. “The whole mugging seemed personal. The gang knew who he was. They said they were delivering a message to him. Something about their boss not getting his money…or something like that.”

The younger officer is quick to write down the information Blossom has given them. “Wow. Thanks. That’s a great lead. We’ll have to bring it up when we interview Mr. Martin.” he flashes her another dashing smile.

Blossom smiles in return. “No problem. By the way, do you know what his condition is? Is he going to be alright?”

“We don’t really know his condition, but based on what the paramedics said we expect him to pull through. Why? You worried?”

“Yea. He was beaten pretty badly. I was scared he wasn’t going to make it.”

The young officer’s smile widens. “Well aren’t you a regular good samaritan. There ought to be more people like you.”

“There is! You and them sisters of yours. Carbon copies of Barbara aren’t ya’?” Officer Brikowskisays with a chuckle.

_Oh no. Not this again._

“Pardon?” says the young officer. “Who’s Barbara?”

Before Blossom can intervene, Brikowski thinks it fit to tell her life story to the cute—err… young officer.

“Barbara! You don’t know Barbara? Oh, right. Forgot you’re a transfer. Well, let me tell ya’ Barbara was a real doll. She was sweet as a peach. A real do-gooder, just liker her lovely daughter here. Anybody ever tell you that you look just like her?”

_Only like all the time._

Besides her red hair and the freckles on her cheeks, Blossom is a carbon copy of her mother; same nose, same cheekbones, same chin, and the same hazel eyes. She should be faltered by the comparison, her mother was a real beauty, but frankly, it makes Blossom uncomfortable to continuously be compared to a dead person. 

“Thank you.” She replies lacklusterly.

“Yea.” Continues the older officer in a somber tone. “Mighty shame about what happened to her though.”

“Yea. Shame.” Responds Blossom, the irritation apparent in her voice.

“That reminds me, I’m real sorry abo—”

“I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be rude, but it’s really late and I need to get home. My family is probably worried sick about me.” Interrupts Blossom before the officer can continue on with his line of thought. It’s been a long day and Blossom doesn’t feel up to accepting anybody’s ‘sincerest apologies’.

The older officer clears his throat awkwardly, “Oh. Yes. Well, we best be on our way too.”

Blossom is glad that she can finally part ways with the officers. She turns around to leave, but stops when she feels a hand on her shoulder. “Wait.” Says the young officer. “At least let us give you a ride. These streets are dangerous at night, and you’ve already had your fair share of danger tonight.”

Blossom hesitates to answer. A ride home sounds amazing, but she isn’t sure if he’s offering because he feels bad for her now. She turns around and seems him patiently waiting for her with a charming smile on his face. If he does feel sorry for her, he doesn’t show it. _Not that it matters_ , rationalizes Blossom. There was no way she was going to turn down a ride home. She’s had enough excitement for one day and there is no telling what else could happen if she went home alone so late.

“Yea, ok.”

“Ok.” says the young officer with wider smile.

“Great!” says Officer Brikowski, completely over his previous embarrassment, “Hop in little lady.” 

Blossom bites her tongue to keep from responding to the officer’s nickname. It isn’t the first time tonight that’s he’s referred to her using some cute little nickname and it’s getting on her last nerve. She’s sixteen—not five. Not to mention the fact that they’re pretty demeaning nicknames.

Blossom favors the older officer with a tight smile and slides into the back of the police car.

As the car pulls away from the scene of the crime, Blossom spares one last look at the alleyway. An involuntary shiver runs down her spine. She wraps her arms around herself and leans her head on the window.

_I can’t wait for this day to be over._

* * *

Blossom was so eager to get home that she didn’t consider what it would look like with her arriving in the back of a police car. When the car pulls up to her home, she spots Bubbles sitting in the front window nervously tugging at her pigtails. The face she makes when she sees Blossom is one of pure shock. Blossom hasn’t even finished getting out of the car when the front door bursts open and her sisters come rushing out. Surprising still, their aunt, Sara Bellum, rushes out after her sisters noticeably worried as well. Before Blossom has a chance to explain her situation she’s interrupted by one of her sisters.

“And I thought I’d be the first one to arrive home in the back of a cop car.”

“Buttercup!” yell Blossom and her aunt at the same time.

“I was kidding! God!” Buttercup frowns as she folds her arms over her chest. “So what _did_ you do anyway? Nag someone to death?”

_Augh! The nerve of this girl._ The day’s events have left Blossom in a foul mood and Buttercup’s attitude is just about enough to push her over the edge. As if sensing an impending fight between the sisters, Sara steps between the two.

“Buttercup.” She starts, her tone a weird mixture of gentle and threatening. It seems to do the trick as not a second later Buttercup’s smirk is replaced by an annoyed look. Satisfied, Sara turns her attention toward Blossom. “Blossom, honey, what happened?”

“It’s nothing serious, ma’am.” The young officer is quick to answer. He stretches out a hand toward Blossom’s aunt “Hi. My name’s officer Michael Wings, but feel free to call me Mike. Pleasure to make you acquaintance. Are you her guardian?” Blossom thought his smile was cute before, but the mega-watt smile he’s giving her aunt is just gorgeous. She’d feel embarrassed for blushing like a schoolgirl if she hadn’t caught her sisters doing the same.

Not surprising, Michael’s beautiful smile has no effect on her aunt. 

“Yes, I’m her legal guardian.” Sara responds simply, not bothering to take the officer’s hand. “If it’s nothing serious could you mind explaining to me why my niece was escorted home in the back of a police vehicle?”

Officer Wings retracts his hand awkwardly. “Oh…um, well…”

“Excuse my partner, Ms. Bellum. He’s new, and he tends to get a little fresh with the ladies. Thinks he Casanova or something.” Officer Brikowski trails off. 

Sara’s expression is anything but amused, and poor Michael looks even more flustered than before. “I hope that attitude didn’t extend to my niece.” Blossom didn’t think her already flushed face could get any redder, but today is turning out to be just full of surprises.

“What? No! Oh God no! Do I see like some kind of pervert to you? She’s just a kid.” To emphasize his point further he takes at least three steps away from Blossom.Well, it's good to know that he finds her utterly repulsive; Blossom is pretty sure that her face has turned into a brand new shade of red never seen before.

“Sara!” she yells out utterly embarrassed; she doesn’t catch the hurt look that passes over her aunt’s face. “He was just doing his job. He helped me and another man…we were being assaulted.” She mumbles out the last part, hoping not to make such a big deal out of it.

Naturally, that doesn’t work.

“WHAT!?” yells her aunt. She wraps her arms around her niece “Are you alright? What happened?” 

“Now, ma’am. It’s okay, no need to get worried.” Says the older cop hoping to calm down her aunt.

“Okay?! My niece was assaulted!”

“Actually,” interrupts officer Wings “Another man was being assaulted. Your niece was just in the wrong place at the wrong time; however, if she hadn’t been there that man might not have made it. She saved someone’s life tonight, Ms.”

The frown melts right off her aunt’s face. Suddenly, Blossom has three pair of eyes looking at her in varying degrees of astonishment. “It was nothing…really. All I did was call the cops.” She says meekly, uncomfortable with all the attention.

Her aunt is the first to snap out of it. “Oh…. um, wow. I’m sorry. I had no idea. Blossom are you alright?”

“I’m fine. Just tired is all.”

Her aunt nods her head understandingly. “Of course. Officers, if it’s alright with you, can my niece head inside?”

“Yea, yea, of course. We got her statement already. We just wanted to make sure she got home safe.”

Sara nods her head and turns towards Blossom and her sisters. “You girls should head inside and start dinner. I’ll be in soon.” She turns back around signifying that the girls are not to argue. Buttercup looks like she wants to say something, but is cut off as Blossom quickly shoves past her.

“Hey!”

Blossom ignores Buttercup as she walks toward the house. Buttercup may want to argue, but Blossom is beyond exhausted, and she is past the point of caring to try and hide it. As she walks away she can hear her aunt share some words with Buttercup, before speaking to the officers once more. “What happened? Did you catch you guys that did it?” Sara’s voice trails off as Blossom walks away.

She hears footsteps approaching from behind. From the corner of her eye she sees Bubbles quickly catching up to her. “Hey, Blossom?” She stops when her sister’s hand lands on her arm. “I’m really glad you’re okay.” She says softly. Bubbles’ smile is so sincere and sweet that Blossom can’t help but smile in return. “Thanks. Me too.”

From behind, Blossom hears the loud stomps of Buttercup’s boots. Not wanting a confrontation, Blossom quickly makes her way inside. She barely makes it a step inside when she’s pushed aside as Buttercup shoves past her, her loud footsteps echoing as she makes her way to the kitchen. Whatever good mood Bubbles manage to inspire in her quickly vanishes, and she is left fuming.

She scoffs. _She is so childish._

Bubbles walks in nervously tugging on her pigtails. Bubbles doesn't like conflict, especially between her sisters, which, unfortunately, has been more frequent in recent months. Things haven’t been easy since…since their father’s passing. His absence has caused some strain, not only financially, but also between the three sisters. Besides acting out, Buttercup has been distant; secluding herself in her room or staying out as late as possible. Blossom is embarrassed to admit that she hasn’t been handling her sister very well, and poor Bubbles, who is visibly having the hardest time with their father’s death, has been caught in the middle. Blossom can tell she feels hurt by Buttercup’s distant behavior and their frequent squabbles.

Blossom looks at Bubbles now as she bites her lip in worry at the possibility of another screaming match breaking out between her sisters. Her eyes are shiny from the unshed tears that are sure to follow if Blossom confronts Buttercup. She lets out a sigh; she’s tired of seeing her sister cry. So, reluctantly, she bites her tongue and goes into the kitchen without saying a word to Buttercup.

Buttercup is already at the table helping herself to the food that, she presumes, their aunt brought.

“Auntie Sara got us tacos.” Says Bubbles as she takes a seat next to Buttercup, confirming Blossom’s suspicions.

Blossom is about to tell her sisters that she isn’t hungry when she hears the front door open and close a second later. “Hey. I’m glad to see you guys are helping yourselves. Their good huh?” Says their aunt with a smile when she walks into the kitchen, but her smile fades when she notices Blossom isn’t eating. “Blossom, aren’t you eating?”

Blossom is too tired to eat, and to be honest she’s still full from the late lunch she had at the diner. However, based on the worried look on her aunt’s face, Blossom knows that rejecting the dinner isn’t an option. It’s not that their aunt thinks they can’t feed themselves, because they can; the tacos, like the previous dinners that their aunt has brought them, is more a ploy to get all of them to sit and do something together.

The first couple of dinners that their aunt brought over to the house were very welcomed. The girls were in shock, and not able to take care of themselves properly, but that’s not the case now. Now when aunt Sara brings over dinner the girls are expected to all sit together and it’s an awkward and boring ordeal for all involved.

The very first dinner was awkward and silent. No one wanted to talk about the elephant in the room, or the missing person at the dinner table. The sisters’ interactions have resembled that dinner ever since, distant, awkward, and quite. Her aunt, bless her heart, tried, she really did, and she’s still trying but it’s not going to be easy to repair the damage that was left in the wake of their father’s death. It will take time.

Blossom sits down next to Bubbles and half-heartedly begins to eat dinner. She really isn’t in the mood for dinner, but at least her aunt seems content.

_Just one less thing to worry about._

About a minute into the meal and the silence around the table is deafening. It’s not like Blossom and her sisters were extremely close before; they are all so different and interested in doing their own thing, but their family get-togethers were never this strained.Family meals were always filled with chatter and laughter. Now the chatter and laughter has been replaced by a tense silence only broken occasionally by the sound of clattering silverware.

“So.” Starts her aunt awkwardly. Whatever her aunt is going to say she hopes it’s not to ask her about what happened earlier tonight. She tired of having to relive it. “Blossom, where were you today? When I got here your sisters told me you had been out all day. ”

Blossom internally winces. She told her sisters she would be out for half the day; well she told Bubbles, Buttercup was still asleep, but she failed to mention why, and with good reason too.

When her dad passed there was a bit of debate over who would get custody of the girls. Their grandparents on their mother’s side passed away in a tragic car accident many years ago, while Barbara was in college, and their grandfather on their father’s side passed away 3 years prior from liver failure.Since their father was estranged from his mother, and her whereabouts were unknown, there was a real serious possibility that the girls would be placed in foster care. As if losing their father wasn’t bad enough the girls would have to deal with losing their home and the possibility of being separated from one another.

It would seem obvious that Sara Bellum, Barbara’s little sister, would be the one to get custody of the girls. She was the only family the girls had left. However, there was debate over Sara’s ability to provide for the girls. Officials argued that Sara was not fit to care for the girls.

Sara is a 38 year old career woman with no kids, and no husband. If they didn’t live in Townsville, and if they weren’t the Utonium girls, Barbara Bellum’s only children, then Blossom doubts anyone would have found a problem with Sara taking guardianship over the girls.

Sara had to undergo a brutal legal battle with child protective services in order to gain custody over the girls. It was a very difficult time for them, they were devastated over the loss of their father and uncertain over their immediate future—not to mention the fact that the whole ordeal, their father’s death and the legal battle, was made public for all to see— but no matter how bad it was for the girls, it was much worse for Sara.

Sara’s name was dragged through the mud during the trial. It seemed Sara wasn’t as beloved as her older sister was. Any indiscretion, no matter how big or small, Sara ever made was used against her to deny her custody. Sara was apparently a bit of a wild child in her younger days, and there was a lot of evidence to use against her. Sara argued that those mistakes she had made were just that— mistakes done by an adolescent girl. She is a responsible, mature, and successful woman now. She works in city hall as the mayor’s assistant, and makes enough money to afford a very comfortable lifestyle.

Sara’s work with the mayor gave her a lot of pull with many of the officials, but still many doubts persisted, chief among them was that no matter how successful she was, her income would not be enough to support her and three teenage girls. Eventually, a deal was made. The girls would be placed with their aunt Sara; but due to Sara’s income, she would receive federal aid, which meant that legally the state would maintain custody of the girls. Sara Bellum would only be a foster parent.

Sara was understandably devastated. Blossom and her sisters were too, but more so relieved that they wouldn’t be separated from each other or their childhood home. Luckily, the girls were allowed to live in their home—which was paid off from the savings leftover from their father’s death—as long as their aunt lived with them too. However, their aunt was a busy woman with an apartment of her own near city hall, so it would be a great inconvenience to travel to and from the suburbs everyday.

Sara mostly stayed over on weekends or on days she didn’t work, which were rare. Of course, the biggest reason she hadn’t moved in to the girl’s home was because the only spare room in the house was their father’s old bedroom. In the 3 months since his passing no one had dared go in there, not even to collect his things. Sara was respectful of that, and anytime she stayed over she slept on the couch, not an optimal position for a 38 year old.

Blossom bites her lip in distress. Sara is doing her best for her and her sisters, but it’s hard not to feel like she’s lacking in many aspects. Sara is busy most of the times, she’s not always around, and despite how hard she works, financially, the girls are barely staying afloat. Remorsefully, she knows that no matter how hard her aunt tries, she’s never going to be able to fill her father’s shoes, and, honestly, she shouldn’t have to. Blossom isn’t sure if she’s the only one of her sisters to feel this way, but she feels bad that her aunt, who is still so young, should have to push her life aside in order to take care of her nieces. It’s not fair.

“I went out…to find a job.” Blossom reluctantly answers.

“A job? Why do you need a job?”

“Well…I thought it would be a good idea to start saving up some money for college…and other things.” She finishes lamely. 

“But college is two years away, and there’s scholarships you can get.”

“Exactly, college is _only_ two years away, and scholarships can only pay for so much. How else am I, or any of us, suppose to pay for school? Besides, Bubbles and Buttercup both have jobs.”

“Hey don’t drag me into this.” Complains Buttercup.

“Actually, I’m volunteer.” Bubbles adds quietly. 

“I can help you girls with school.” A sad frown tugs on her aunt’s face. “You girls are so young. You should be having fun, not worrying about money or work.”

_RING!!!_

A loud ringtone interrupts the conversation before Blossom can argue the point further. Sara roots around her bag and pulls out her phone.

“Sara Bellum speaking.” She answers. “Uh-huh. Oh…I see.” a profound worried look appears on Sara’s face. “Yes. Thank you. I’ll…” she stops suddenly and looks up at her nieces. “…I’ll be there when I can. Goodbye.” She hangs up and puts her phone away. Blossom expects her to excuse herself, and leave, but instead her aunt goes back to eating her dinner, the profound worried look still on her face.

“Who was it?”

“Nobody. Just work.” replies her aunt nonchalantly.

“It seemed like it was important.”

“It… _was_ , but it’s not something they can’t handle without me.”

Of course her aunt is lying through her teeth. She’s so engrossed in whatever was said in the phone call that she’s completely forgotten about the conversation they were having before. She’s probably mentally going over whatever it was they called her about. Blossom always expects her aunt to be the one to break the tense silence around the dinner table, but now that she’s preoccupied with work her presences just adds to the awkward tension. 

“Aunt Sara.” Says Bubbles catching their aunt’s attention. “We’re almost done with dinner, so if you have to leave we totally understand. We’re all probably going to turn in afterwards anyway.”

A deep frown tugs at their aunt’s brows. “Hmmm…” she begins uncertainly. She looks to be considering her options. Blossom can tell she’s torn between being the good guardian and staying with the girls or being the good mayor’s assistant and leaving. Sara looks at her nieces with a wary look, if she hopes to decide based on their expressions then she’s out of luck. It’s not that the girls don’t love their aunt, but they can do just fine without her. Besides, Bubbles is right, as soon as dinner is over they’re all going to retreat into their separate bedrooms and call it a night.

Sara lets out a deep sigh, having made up her mind. “Are you sure?” she asks.

Bubbles nods her head reassuringly causing her blond pigtails to bounce from side to side. “Yea. It’s fine.” She responds with a small smile.

“Okay…if you girls need anything please call, no matter what the time, and I’ll be here okay.” Their aunt begins to put away her things and her plate. Before she leaves she gives everyone of her nieces a hug and a quick kiss on the cheek.

“Ugh! Okay we get it. You love us.” Says Buttercup annoyed. Their aunt just smiles in response.

“Bye girls. I’ll be back soon.” Soon is a relative term when it comes to their aunt. Soon could mean later tonight, but it most likely means in a few days. How the state hasn’t found out that their aunt isn’t residing with them, Blossom has no idea, but she is extremely grateful.

“Bye Aunt Sara.” The girls say in unison. _That’s odd_ , thinks Blossom. She can’t remember the last time they did anything in unison.

The sound of Sara’s heels echo around the house as she makes for the door. A minute later they hear the door slam closed and the all too familiar sound of their aunt Sara’s car engine roar to life.

If Blossom thought the silence was deafening before, it’s absolutely blaring now. Now that their aunt is gone, no one is willing to break the silent tension. Blossom doesn’t understand how it got this bad between her sisters. It’s gotten to the point that these silences are more boring than awkward now. Still, the silences are much more welcomed than the arguments and fights they occasionally get into. That’s probably the reason no one wants to break the silence.

“So…”

_Well, almost no one._

“I’d ask if anything interesting happened today, but considering Blossom came home in the back of a cop car I guess it’s a stupid question, huh?” asks Bubbles in a self-deprecating manner, hopping to break the strange standoff between her sisters.

The only response she gets is a small snort from Buttercup and a small smile from Blossom. Bubbles looks visibly defeated, her shoulders and head drop, and she continues to eat the rest of her meal in silence.

After a few more silent moments, Blossom begins to feel sympathy for her sister.Just like their aunt Sara, Bubbles is trying to bridge the gap between the sisters; so she decides to indulge her, if only a little.

“I got a job today.” Blossom says simply.

“That’s great Blossom! Where?” Bubbles asks, a giant smile on her face.

“Downtown.”

“Hmmm, that’s kinda far. Where downtown?”

“It's a couple of blocks from Central prep.”

“Fucking rich kids.” Blossom hears Buttercup mumble. “So, what’s the job?” she asks louder.

Blossom hesitates, she only now decided that she’d accept the job, but she is no more proud about working at a diner than she was a couple hours ago.

“Ummm…I’m going to be a working at a bistro…as a food attendant.”

Buttercup lets out a large and gruff sounding laugh. “HAHA! You mean a waitress.”

Blossom shoots her a dirty look. “Technically…yes.”

“Wow! Good luck with that, everyone knows how horrible the food service industry is.” Still laughing to herself, Buttercup gets up from the table and puts her dirty dish in the sink—without washing it—and heads upstairs. Before she’s out of hearing range, she yells out “Don’t drop anything! That’d be _super_ embarrassing.”

Blossom’s face is flushed with embarrassment and anger.

“Just ignore -”

Blossom stands up suddenly, cutting off her younger sister. “I’m going to bed.” She says hastily, marching herself upstairs, not bothering to pick up her dirty dish.

As she makes her way upstairs she hears a faint “Goodnight” but she doesn’t reply back. She closes her bedroom door roughly, doesn’t bother turning on the lights, and throws herself on her bed. She closes her eyes, and wishes for sleep to take her quickly so that she may finally end this disaster of a day. A few minutes she gets her wish


	2. Chapter 2

"It is Hot, Hot, HOT outside folks. With a record-breaking heat of one hundred and ten degrees! That's right you heard correct, one hundred and ten degrees! Hell has officially come to Townsville—haha! Unfortunately, it doesn't look like this heat wave is going to be letting up anytime soon. So unless you want a heat stroke, I suggest you stay indoors and blast that AC. Also, friendly reminder to drink plenty of water and stay tuned to 96.6 WKPIG, the number one station for all things rock, punk, and hardcore. Now, coming up next, a blast from the past for all you 90's kids. Blink 182's _All the Small Things_.”

“Yo! Turn it up!” Yells out an excited Buttercup, her voice muffled by the almost 4,000 pound car on top of her.

“Ugh! Do we have to listen to this?”

Buttercup rolls out from underneath the car, “What the hell man? How can you not like Blink 182? Does your complete lack of taste also extend to music?”

"Lack of music taste? Me?" Mitch says in disbelief, still looking annoyed at having to listen to the current music station. "You have got to be kidding me. If you wanted to listen to some _actual_ good music, we could be blasting some Beatles or some Queen, but no. Instead, I've got to put up with this shit."

Buttercup snickers, “You are _such_ a music snob, seriously. Just turn it up, man!" 

She rolls back underneath the car she's working on—an old beat-up pick-up truck—effectively ending any of Mitch's complaints. Knowing there's no arguing with the brunette beauty, Mitch reluctantly goes over to the portable radio sitting on the workbench and raises the volume.

“Say it ain’t so; I will not go, turn the lights off, carry me home. Na Na Na Na Na…" Buttercup continues to happily sing the rest of the song. She's so focused on what she's doing that she doesn't notice a dirty pair of sneakers walking up to her side until a head pops up underneath the car.

"You know I can hear you, right?"

Startled and embarrassed, Buttercup jumps up only to hit her head on the underside of the truck, “Argh! Fuck you!” she cries out.

To his benefit, Mitch doesn't laugh. Instead, he just smiles that crooked grins of his that she loves so much and pretends he didn't see her completely spazz out. Buttercup, graceful as she is, flips him off, which only causes his cute grin to widen, and goes back to working on the truck, determined to ignore him until she no longer feels like a giant idiot.

That could take a while.

“Mitch! MITCH! TURN THAT SHIT DOWN!” Mitch’s father storms into the garage. "I've been calling you for the past five minutes!" 

Mitch groans, "What?"

Buttercup quickly rolls out from under the car, “Sorry, sir. I turned up the music, thought it’d be okay since there’s no customers here.”

Tom Mitchelson owns and runs the mechanic shop—Mitchelson's Garage, and Spare Parts. So that not only makes him Mitch's father and boss but her boss as well. Mr. Mitchelson is an awesome dude for exactly two reasons—one, he raised an awesome son and two, he hired her.

Buttercup doesn't like to brag—at least not often—but she's great with cars. Of course with her being a girl and all— _sexists pricks_ —no one wanted to hire her. Mr. Mitchelson was the only one willing to take a chance on her, overlooking the fact that she was a girl and an inexperienced high school student. Therefore, Buttercup's level of respect for him is rather high, higher than she has for most other people. 

Mr. Mitchelson huffs, “It’s fine BC you was working on the car like you’re _suppose_ d to be." He says giving Mitch a pointed look, to which he responds by rolling his eyes. "What do you think you're doing Mitch? I ain’t paying ya to sit around and look pretty. Now quit flirting with your girlfriend and get your ass to the storefront. We've got customers and I need someone to work the register." 

Buttercup looks away embarrassed, letting her hair shield her face and the bright red blush spreading across her cheeks.

"What about Joe? Ain't he working storefront today?"

"Had to leave early. His wife went into labor. Now get your ass in gear and go work the register."

"Yes, dad." Mitch says, his bored tone betraying nothing. Was he not embarrassed by what his father said? Because she and Mitch are totally not boyfriend and girlfriend. They’ve never even been on a date before. They are just friends.

And nothing more.

Mr. Mitchelson’s loud footsteps echo across the garage as he walks back to the storefront. Buttercup watches his retreating form with such ferocity you’d think her gaze alone would be enough to set the senior Mitchelson on fire. Normally Buttercup is very fond of her boss, but once in a blue moon, he'll say something that completely embarrasses her.

For example, at the start of the summer, she’d worn shorts for the first time to work because she decided getting oil residue on her legs was worth not dying of heat stroke.

She'd been on the volleyball team during the spring semester. Most of the practices and competitions took place inside, so despite wearing volleyball shorts nearly every day, she didn't exactly get much sun. A fact that Mr. Mitchelson chose to point out to her and everyone else in the shop, including Mitch.

 _"Nothing to be ashamed of—girls would kill to have legs like yours."_ Buttercup had never felt so humiliated. She would have gone off on him if he weren’t her boss. Mitch was totally cool about the whole thing, as he is with everything else, and just rolled his eyes and told her to _“Ignore the old man. He’s senile and doesn't know what he’s saying.”_

“Well, I’ve been summed by Hades. Feel free to turn your crap music up as loud as possible.” 

Buttercup turned her scolding glare to Mitch, which to no ones’ surprise did not faze him. Mitch didn't get fazed by much. He was just too cool and mellow to let things get to him.

He gave her a lazy smile and followed after his father, dragging his feet the whole way.

If Mitch was at all embarrassed by his father’s assumption he didn’t show it, which, yes, bothered Buttercup a little.

Okay, it bothered her more than just a little.

A lot actually. 

One time when Buttercup was hanging out with Mitch and his friends at the skate park, Mitch and his buddy, Donnie, collided with one another. Mitch ended up landing on top of him, and naturally, everyone made fun of the scandalizing position they found themselves in. Buttercup jokingly suggested Mitch take advantage of the situation and plant one on him. Donnie was all bent out of shape about it, but Mitch just laughed. He wasn't fazed at all, and he even helped Donnie get up, even though he swatted Mitch's hand away.

Is that why Mitch didn’t seem fazed now? Because he sees Donnie and her as essentially the same. Just a buddy? A pal? Platonic friend? 

Ouch. That hurts.

But then again…

She has been spending a lot more time with Mitch lately.Buttercup has known Mitch since preschool, but they hadn't always been friends. Sure she saw him in the halls and hung out with him during lunch sometimes, but Buttercup has a large group of friends, most of which are on the same sports teams as her, so she didn't exclusively hang out with him.

Although, after the _incident_ Buttercup found his cool and relaxed presence to be the most comforting. She started ditching her old friends and hanging out with him more and more.

He was the one that got her this job.

It's been four months now. Four months of exclusively hanging out with him.

Does that mean…

 _No_ , she thinks in disbelief.

Does that make them girlfriend and boyfriend? She wouldn’t know, as she’s never had a boyfriend before. She’s never really been interested in a guy before either, until Mitch. Maybe it’s obvious. Maybe Mitch knows and he feels the same. Does Mitch consider them boyfriend and girlfriend?

The idea that Mitch might feel the same makes her feel so uncharacteristically giddy that she almost wants to punch herself in the face. She’s glad no one is in the garage now because her face is burning up, and she’s pretty sure she’s grinning like a maniac.

So not cool.

So she's officially dating Mitch? No, that can't be right. If it's official, she's sure that there would have been the obligatory awkward _what are we_ conversation. She keenly remembers Bubbles having such a conversation with her last boyfriend, Mike. Bubbles would not shut up about it. _Does he consider me his girlfriend? Do I want him to be my boyfriend?_

So annoying.

So not officially. Dating perhaps? She does spend all her free time with him. She starts to recall all their past interactions, but none of it seems like dating to her. They've never gone out to a fancy dinner; he's never given her flowers or paid for her or anything.

Since she's never dated before she's basing all this on the crappy movies Bubbles has made her watch. To be honest, she's glad he's never done any of those things. She doesn't do fancy, and she wouldn't even have anything to wear to a fancy restaurant. She also doesn't like flowers, and she'd feel awkward if he paid for her or bought her things. The whole thing is so cliché; she'd defiantly punch him in the face if he ever tried any of it.

 _Well_ , maybe a light tap. Her soft spot for him is getting increasingly embarrassing.

They mostly hang out at the mall, or at the skate park, and they’ve never eaten anything fancier than burgers or pizza.

 _There was that one time we ate tacos_ , she muses.

The more she thinks about it, the more she realizes he hasn't really acted any differently around her. It sucks, but she likes how cool Mitch is, so she's not _not_ happy that he hasn’t been acting like a nervous dork around her. If anything she’s pretty sure she’s the one that makes the bigger fool of herself around him.

Does he not notice how he makes her act? The effect he has on her?If his impassive reaction is anything to go by, she's guessing no.

That majorly _sucks_.

“Well I hope all you 90’s kids enjoyed that blast from the past, but now we’re going to go a little more old school with some Bon Jovi. Enjoy!”

_“Shot through the heart, And you're to blame. Darlin', You give love a bad name”_

The music pulls Buttercup away from her stupid girly thoughts and brings her back down to earth.

_Gah! I’m such a spazz, get over yourself Buttercup! You’ve got a job to do._

Buttercup rolls back underneath the car and goes back to work. The loud sounds of Bon Jovi's _You Give Love a Bad Name_ helping drive away her dumb thoughts, and soon enough she’s lost in what she’s doing.

“Excuse me?”

Buttercup was still lost in the music and completely focused on the task at hand that she didn't hear the shouts of a potential customer. She did, however, see a pair of shiny red high heels—better known as death traps—approach the car she was working on. She groans inwardly and tries to hide from view.

There was a reason she was never asked to manage the storefront. Besides the fact that she’s better at fixing cars than Mitch, she’s also about as charming as a sea slug—Mr. Mitchelson’s own words—which is to say not at all. It's not like she's socially inept, or like a bitch or anything, but seriously, it's not her fault that some of the customers she's had to deal with before are complete morons and know next to nothing about cars.

“EXCUSE ME! IS ANYBODY IN HERE?”

The death traps on legs walk away from her, making that annoying click-clack noise as she struts across the garage. She can't actually hear it over the music, but she can just tell by the pointed way she walks. 

Dorothy XXX stops at the workbench near the back of the shop, and the music shuts off.

"That's better. Can't imagine anyone listens to this crap."

Well, fuck if Buttercup was going to let that slide.

"Ahem, I listen to that shit." Says Buttercup getting up from her hiding spot.

Dorothy XXX spins around, “Oh…” she says sounding apologetic but looking anything but. It’s not right to judge, but Buttercup is going to go out on a limb here and guess that she’s a total bitch. For one, no one bleaches their hair that blond with roots that dark without having some attitude. Second, no one in their right mind would think to wear the X-rated version of Dorothy's shoes and, ironically enough, a tight blue mini dress to a greasy, dirty, mechanic shop.

Lastly, she is wearing too much make-up—like an insane amount of makeup. Who the hell thinks to wear that much make-up in 110-degree weather? Who? A crazy person that's who!

“I was calling out. No one heard me.” She smiles sweetly at Buttercup, but while her horse mouth says artificial whitener, her eyes scream psycho.

“I heard you.”

Dorothy’s smile drops. “Then why didn’t you fucking answer?”

Buttercup rolls her eyes and walks away without answering. She walks near the front of the garage and picks up a clipboard hanging by the entrance. This time she hears the click-clack of Dorothy’s shoes as she marches to where Buttercup is standing.

“Hello? I’m talking to you.”

“You’re not on the schedule.” Replies Buttercup.

“You don’t even know my name.”

“Don’t need to know it.We schedule repairs and maintenance check-ups in advance, and there are no new ones scheduled for toady. No drop-ins either.”

The Malibu Barbie-reject huffs, “You guys do emergency repairs don’t you?” she says like Buttercup is the biggest idiot in the world.

Buttercup nods here head, "We do. But I don't." with that, she walks away from her intending to go back to working on the truck. "If you need emergency assistance go out front. They can help you. Or, I don't know, try calling AAA next time."

“Listen here you little bit—”

“Madison? What are you doing here?”

Both Buttercup and Dorothy XXX, who apparently is Madison XXX, turns to look at Mitch, who has just walked in from the storefront carrying some boxes. “Does my dad know you’re here?”

What happens next is like a scene right out the Exorcist, one moment Madison’s face and demeanor are normal—scowling and bitchy, but normal. Next, she's distorting her features, stretching that horse grins of hers across her face and fluttering her long fake eyelashes. 

"Oh, Mitchie!" She says so sickeningly sweet it sounds fake. “I’m so glad you’re here. Maybe you can help me seeing as how _some_ people just want to be difficult." Even though she didn't name her, it's obvious from the glare that Madison sends her way that she's talking about her. 

Madison beams at Mitch, who remains impassive. "Buttercup's schedule is full for today, Madison. She can't help you."

Madison’s whole demeanor drops. Buttercup can’t help but beam at Mitch. He always has her back.

“Your dad said he’d fix Cherry.” She pouts.

 _Cherry?_ Buttercup looks outside to see what the hell she's talking about, and spots a beautiful cherry red Mercedes-Benz sitting outside. _Damn,_ such a waste of a fine car.

“Well, my dad didn’t say anything so…”

“I didn’t say anything about what?”

Speak of the devil.

"Honey-Bunny!" The Malibu Barbie-reject is back to her fake sweet persona, with added sex appeal as she squishes her breasts together. Buttercup scoffs—like they didn't look enormous before. To her complete and utter disgust, the ruse works, and Mitch's dad is completely hooked.

“Maddie, Baby! What are you doing here?” He asks taking his life-size doll in his arms.

“To see you silly.” She bops his nose, “And to get Cherry fixed. Duh!” She laughs.

Buttercup turns from the nauseating scene. “Gross.” She mumbles, quite enough that her lovesick boss won’t hear but loud enough that Mitch is sure to hear. Only Mitch isn't looking at her. He’s staring at the gross couple a few feet away from him. The expression on his face is not one she is familiar with, but it’s not hard to guess what it is. He’s ticked-off, and judging by the way he’s currently clenching his fist, she’d go as far as saying he’s mad.

 _Really_ mad. That’s strange for Mitch.

“You okay?” She asks.

Her question seems to snap him out of whatever trance the gross couple put him under. He meets her gaze but quickly looks away.

“I’m fine.” He mumbles.

"You said you would put in those new shiny chrome rims on Cherry, remember?" She says in a sugary sweet voice.

 _Belch_.

“I thought you wanted to _fix_ your car, not pimp it out.” Buttercup mumbles

 _Maddie_ glares at her, "You really ought to consider getting a new grease monkey honey-bunny, the help sucks around here." 

“What?” asks Mr. Mitchelson, confused on why his precious _baby_ is currently glaring at his best mechanic. Well, best is debatable, but she’s defiantly really good—especially for how much he pays her.

“Dad, the chrome rims? Those took forever for us to get. You’re not just gonna give them to her are you?”

“Mitch not now.” Mr. Mitchelson sighs. “Now was it this I here about us not having good service?”

“Um…”

“She,” Maddie points her long fake nails in Buttercup's direction, "Refused to help me. She ignored me." She pouts. 

“I…um…was busy, and…um…the schedule…”

“Maddie,” Mr. Mitchelson starts, cutting off Buttercup’s awkward explanation, “You should have told me you were coming today. ”

“I had some free time. Besides aren’t you glad to see me?”

“Of course, baby—”

"Dad, in case you've forgotten we have a business to run." Mitch interrupts, irritated.

Mr. Mitchelson glares but then relents. "He's right. I'm really glad to see you, but think you can come back another time? We're short staffed today, and I've got to manage the storefront and the garage. I won't be able to install your shiny new rims."

“Then let her do it.” She says sharply, dropping the _cute_ act, “That’s what she’s here for, right?”

Buttercup is about to defend herself, reminding the she-devil that she is completely busy, but is beaten to the punch by Mr. Mitchelson.

“Buttercup has her hands full already, honey. She won’t be able to either. Besides, I want to be the one to install your new rims.”

"Well, why didn't she say so in the first place?” Madison huffs.

What the fuck? Are her ears fake too? Can she not hear? Because she totally told the Malibu Barbie-reject that she was swamped today. And Mitch did too!

Mr. Mitchelson just laughs, "Buttercup doesn't deal with customers, baby, and for good reason too. Sorry about that." 

The apology is suppose to be for Madison, but Mr. Mitchelson catches her eyes over her shoulder and winks. Buttercup is glad to know that her awesome boss isn't totally whipped. 

Maddie pouts, but she eventually relents. “Fine. But I’m going to hold you to your promise. I want those _shiny_ new rims.” She purrs.

“Yea, baby. Don’t worry. I got them saved up for you.”

Mitch scoffs.

"Okay. Bye Honey-Bunny." She gives him a quick peck on the lips, and Buttercup thanks GOD for small mercies that she didn't decide to eat his face in front of them. "Bye Mitchie!” She coos, to which Mitch responds to with an eye roll.Mr. Mitchelson elbows his son in the side. "Bye Madison," Mitch says with no enthusiasm. 

Madison turns to leave, but before departing, she stops in front of her. "Butterball? Was it?"

There's a car behind Madison with its hood propped open. It's only a few feet away, but Buttercup can have her pinned against the car's battery faster than she can blink.

_It would be so easy._

“It’s BUTT.ER.CUP.” She grits. She thinks better about the whole smashing her face in. She doesn't want to lose her job. And going to jail doesn't sound fun either. "Balloon tits."

Mr. Mitchelson hawks, "Um…baby, how about I walk you to your car." Mr. Mitchelson escorts his girlfriend outside before things get ugly.

"Did you see the way she talked to me? You should fire…" her annoying voice trails off as Mr. Mitchelson drags her out.

Buttercup snorts, “She’s a piece of work.”

"Yea."

Mitch's pissed off look hasn't changed, and it's starting to worry her. It's not like he looks scary or anything, or about to explode and destroy everything around him, but still it's a disturbing expression on his normally chill face.

“Mitch?”

Mitch meets her concerned gaze then he turns away from her and starts unpacking the boxes he brought in earlier. Mr. Mitchelson walks back in and puts a hand on her shoulder,

"Alright let's get back to work. Mitch when you're done with the boxes I'm gonna have you run the store so I can get to work on Mr. Miller's Corolla. Got it?" 

Mitch nods, not meeting his dad's eye. Mr. Mitchelson sighs in irritation then heads back to the storefront. Whatever's got Mitch so upset it's obviously got something to do with his father, and judging by his reaction, it's a fight both Mitchelsons have had in the past.

“Yo, Mitch, mind telling me what’s going on?”

“Nothing.” He says without sounding angry, even though it’s obvious.

Mitch being mad is weird, not only because she's never experienced it before, but also because he's so different from her when she's mad. According to her sister, she's quite scary when she's mad. Bubbles is a scardey cat, but even Buttercup can agree that she’s right. When she’s mad, her whole body goes taught, as if preparing for a fight. She starts to breath deeper and faster, her chest rising dramatically. Her anger is palpable, like a pot of water ready to boil over. She usually has to go for a run, vent, or punch a pillow to calm down.

She can agree it’s not a pretty sight. But then again, it’s not suppose to be.

Mitch's body isn't rigid or taught like hers when she's mad. In fact, he looks completely calm from the back. The only reason she knows he's still bothered by something is the fact that he is being unusually quiet. Unusually quiet and annoyingly distant. It's like when Bubbles gets upset, but she _swears_ she’s not mad.

What has him so ticked-off? Is it Madison? She gets it; Madison put her in a bad mood too. But he seemed more upset with his father than with anyone else.

“Whose Madison?”

“Dad’s new girlfriend.”

“Well, duh. But—”

Mitch sighs, “Look can we just drop it. I’ve got to go man the store. See ya later.”

“Kay…” She watches Mitch walk away from her, clearly still angry. She knows he’s not angry at her, but it still stings when he’s so quick to write her off. She’s his friend dammit! He’s always willing to lend an ear when she starts to bitc—er—vent about stuff. Does he not think she can do the same? She can! She's a good listener, a good friend.

Unless…

Unless she's not the person Mitch goes to with his problems. That might hurt more than him not liking her like she likes him. It's one thing to not have _romantic_ feelings for someone but for him to not consider her a friend like she thinks of him— _stings_. He's her best friend. That type of relationship has to be mutual. Right?

She hopes so.

Maybe he just needs time. He’ll come around.

Or maybe he never will. Maybe he doesn't want to talk about it ever. That she _can_ relate to. She's been hanging out with Mitch for the last four months, ever since the _incident_ happened, and she hasn't once talked about it with him—she hasn't talked to anyone about it.

There’s no point.

Talking won’t change anything.

“BC? Shouldn’t you be finishing up the truck?”

“Huh? Oh yea, I’ll get right on that, sir.”

Buttercup walks back to the truck she was working on before the she-devil arrived and Mr. Mitchelson walks up to the Corolla on her right side. 

“Hey, uh, I just wanted to apologize for earlier. Maddie caught us all by surprise. She didn't mean anything she said; she's just sensitive. She's really a sweet girl."

Buttercup snorts. Girl is right; she looks like she's ten years younger than old man Mitchelson. He either _is_ senile or completely wrapped around Madison's finger to think she's actually sweet. "It's whatever. But thanks for having my back. I tried telling her I was busy."

Mr. Mitchelson chuckles, “Yea, no problem. Maddie can be kinda of err…. _fierce_. Hope she didn’t put a dent in your day.”

Buttercup shakes her head. "Nah, I'm almost done." Besides, she thinks, if anyone has ruined her day, it would be Mitch's sour attitude.But despite making her feel about three inches tall, Buttercup can't help but think; _I hope he’s okay_.

* * *

 

‘That's it." Buttercup says, closing the hood of the Corolla.

“Thanks for your help, BC.” Replies Mr. Mitchelson gratefully

“That’s what I’m here for. Well, that and the money.”

Mr. Mitchelson laughs.

"I closed the store," Mitch says walking toward them.

"Good, we just finished up here. You kids are free to leave. But remember you guys are working double shifts tomorrow."

Mitch groans, “We know. Unfair by the way.”

Mr. Mitchelson merely shrugs, “You’ll be starting school soon. I got to take advantage of the free time you guys have left.” 

“Like we don’t have better things to do.” Says Buttercup, wiping her hands on her dirty green oil rag.

"Yea, yea. Hey do me a favor and get out of here. The less I see of the two of you, the better."

"Whatever dad, later," Mitch says, grabbing their skateboards.

Usually, after work, Mitch and Buttercup will head to the skate park to meet up with Mitch's friends. Actually, even when they don't work they usually end up at the skate park with his friends.

They take a short cut, walking down a deserted road near the mechanic shop. Mitch's father purposely opened the shop there because of all the abandoned cars. He raids the cars for parts, or sometimes fixes them up and sells them. It was a smart business move.

Buttercup and Mitch skate down the road, it's bumpy and hard to skate on but fun. Any bad feelings from earlier seem to have disappeared. They're laughing and making jokes—everything's great. Then Mitch trips over something on his board and falls flat on his face. "Let's walk for now," says Mitch while Buttercup laughs at him.

They walk in comfortable silence. Buttercup isn't all that eager to disturb the peace, but she wants to know what was bugging Mitch earlier. She genuinely cares, and she wants Mitch to know that. She wants to be a good friend—wants Mitch to be able to confide in her.

"So...what was all that about in the shop. Why'd you get so mad?"

Mitch sighs, “You’re not gonna let this go are you?" Buttercup shakes her head stubbornly.

"It's Madison, my dad's girlfriend."

“What about her?”

Mitch lets out a long-suffering groan, “It’s just so… _embarrassing_.”

Buttercup snorts, “Is that it? I mean I get it. She’s horrible, but I’ve seen you face plant before and trust me nothing is more embarrassing than that.” Buttercup kind of finds it sweet that he was embarrassed for her.

“No, it’s not that.” Mitch kicks a can, “It’s just that we worked really hard to get those chrome rims, you know?”

“Wait.” Buttercup halts, “Is this about the rims?”

Mitch shrugs, “Yes… No. I don't know! It’s just…those rims are the first piece of luxury item the shop has gotten in… _forever_. We, my dad and I, planned on selling them to some rich dude and the profits we got from that would let us get more luxury items to sell to some other rich people, and so on. It was gonna be a real boom in business. It was gonna change things for us.” Mitch kicks another can, harder this time. “And now he’s just gonna give them away for free! _Scoff_ , and to _her_ no less. It’s obvious he’s not thinking with his right head.”

Buttercup snorts, “Yea, obviously. But what can you do? It’s your dad, not your kid. You’re just gonna have to let it go, let him make his own fucks up.If you don't take it personally, it won't upset you. At least that's how I see it."

Mitch shoves his hands into his pockets, “Yea… Sorry about venting.”

“No!” Buttercup says quickly, “It’s fine, I’m glad you did. That’s what friends are for.” She nudges him lightly. “Right?”

Mitch nods, “Yea, you’re right.” Mitch begins to walk again, kicking at things in his path, “Its just…dad’s really suck sometimes, you kno—” Mitch cuts himself off immediately. He spins around quickly, “Shit! Sorry I didn’t mean—”

Buttercup stops him, “No, it’s fine. I get it. Trust.”Buttercup shoves past him and continues to walk.

“Shit! BC, really I didn’t mean it like that. That was fucked up. I was just frustrated. Not all dad’s suck—just mine.” He jokes lightly, hoping he didn’t unintentionally hurt Buttercup’s feelings.

"Dude, it's cool. Trust. I get it. What do you think, that the professor was perfect? Well, _newsflash_ —he wasn't." Mitch looks surprised at her words. 

"Buttercup…you don't mean—"

The buzzing of his cell phone interrupts Mitch. He pulls out his phone to answer but it's not a call, it's various text messages left by his friends. 

“Shit.”

Buttercup stops her pouting—not that she admits she was pouting. "What?"

“The guys aren’t at the skate park.”

“Oh…is that a problem? Do you not wanna go anymore?”

Mitch groans, “It wouldn’t have been a problem, but we have to go meet them. Keep them from doing something stupid–specifically Donnie.”

“Is that even possible?” Buttercup jokes, only Mitch doesn’t laugh.

“Whoa, Mitch. What’s going on? Where are they?”

“The Rot.”

“Shit.”

“Look you don’t have to come if you don’t—”

"Are you kidding me? I'm totally going; it's not like it's that far from here."

"No, but it's plenty far from where you live. You'll get home pretty late. Also, it's the _Rot_.”

Buttercup scoffs, “Like I haven’t done that before. Benefit of being an orphan is not having a curfew.”

“Buttercup—”

“Come on let’s go. Who knows what kind of trouble Donnie has gotten himself into.” Buttercup hops back on her board and skates off in the direction of the Rot. She hears Mitch mumble behind her, probably protesting her coming along, but like hell if Buttercup is going to abandon him. They're friends and friends are there for each other, willing to follow each other into hell. 

The Rot might not literally be hell, but it's pretty close. Buttercup just hopes Mitch's friends haven't done anything stupid.

That might be a lot to hope for.

* * *

 

“Where exactly did they say they were?”

"Um…they didn't say. I'm trying to get a hold of them, but they're not answering. They're probably drunk or high right now." He mumbles the last part quietly, but Buttercup still hears him. She chooses to pretend she didn't hear him though; she doesn't want Mitch to think she thinks any less of them because they know how to have fun. Not that she think any less of them.

What they think of her on the other hand—that's a different story.

Buttercup and Mitch arrived in the Rot about ten minutes ago and have been wandering around aimlessly trying to find Mitch’s friends. Wandering around the Rot is not a very smart thing to do; it looks too much like they’re up to something. That could land them in some serious trouble.

But then again the Rot is nothing but trouble.

This side of town wasn't always known as the Rot; it use to be a very industrious and wealthy place. The first major factories were built here and large housing complexes were built around them to house the workers. It was the equivalent of the business district in downtown Townsville today. But then the market crashed, and the economy took a major hit. Factory jobs started being exported overseas to save costs. Eventually, the factories closed down, and the workers were abandoned. The factories were never torn down. They still stand there, rotting away while the rest of the neighborhood rots with them.

For the most part, Townsville has ignored the Rot. No one knew what to do with all the workers left behind, or how to help their struggling families. Government aid only went so far. It didn't take long for the once industrious district of Townsville to morph into what it is today—a dark pit of criminal activity. Townsville is already a pretty unsafe place to live but nothing is more dangerous than the Rot. It isn't the kind of place you want to find yourself in. Even Mitch agrees, and Mitch isn't exactly from the " _right side of town_."

"Finally!" Mitch exclaims, "Ok, they should be near 3rd street and Industry Road. Let’s go.”

“Um, you know where that is?”

Mitch shrugs, “I know 3rd street, it runs all the way to downtown Townsville. We'll just go down that street until we hit Industry road, or when we spot em’.” 

Buttercup nods, hopping back on her skateboard and following Mitch further into the Rot. The deeper into the Rot they go, the worse everything seems to be. The sun hasn't completely set yet, but everything in the Rot appears to be bathed in darkness. It's like a dark hole where everything sick and horrible lives. They pass by decaying business, and houses that don't look like they're meant for human habitation except she knows that there must be people living there. Surprisingly, they haven't run into any people—except for a few homeless people camped out on the sidewalks.

“It seems a little dead.”

“Poor choice of words, BC. ‘Sides, most activity here doesn’t happen ‘till after dark. Which is why we should hurry.”

Buttercup nods and they continue their search in silence.

* * *

 

"I think this is it. Industry Road."

Buttercup stops behind Mitch. She looks up at the street sign, and sure enough, it's Industry Road. She looks around but there's nothing here except for an abandoned building and some empty lots. It's also pitch dark now that the sun has set; it doesn't make finding Mitch's friends any easier.

“There’s nothing here.”

Mitch says nothing.

 _No shit there’s nothing here,_ Buttercup mentally slaps herself. Pointing out the obvious isn’t going to help. Mitch is probably really worried about his friends, she doesn't know them all too well but from the times they've all hung out together, it seems like Mitch is usually the one making sure they don't do something too stupid.

“There.” Mitch finally says.

“What?”

"There you see that sign." Mitch points off to the side. Buttercup turns, but she doesn't see what he's referring to. It is so fucking dark out. She walks closer to where Mitch is pointing and squints her eyes, and that's when she see's it in big white letters.

**Luxury Condominiums CONSTRUCTION UNDERWAY.**

**H.I.M Incorporated.**

Fuck.

“Come on. They must be down there.”

They follow the sign further down Industry Road. The street starts to curve, and that's when they see it, a construction site with the same H.I.M Incorporated construction sign in front of it.

The complex is far from finished, but it's big and tall, and the only thing in the Rot illuminated by lights. Buttercup is surprised they didn't see it before. 

“You have got to be kidding me.”

“What?”

 _CRASH_.

They spot Mitch's friends in the distant inside the construction site, laughing and breaking beer bottles. From this distance, she can see four people, but there should be five —two girls and three guys. That means that one person is missing.

"Are they fucking crazy? Do they not know who's fucking building this is?" Mitch exclaims then runs towards them.

Crazy is right. Not only are these fucking _idiots_ breaking and entering on private property but they're also causing the destruction of said private property.

HIM's private property!

H.I.M incorporated is a beast of a real estate company created and controlled by Hannibal Isaiah Mercer aka HIM. _Original_. HIM is a ruthless businessman who practically owns everything in Townsville. He took advantage of the market crash and bought out people's business and property, driving people out of their homes. HIM is the richest man in town, and even more powerful than the mayor.

Crossing HIM is about the most dangerous thing you can do in Townsville.

"MITCH! Wait!" Buttercup runs after Mitch. She wants to stop him from setting foot on the construction site. It's one thing going into the Rot after dark but breaking onto H.I.M property is a whole other level of danger that Buttercup is not ready for. HIM didn't get to where he is by being a kind and understanding man, and if he finds out that a bunch of kids are tearing apart his work site, there's no telling what he'd do.

"Mitch!" She catches up to him, but it's too late. They have officially stepped foot on H.I.M property.

"Finally!" Yells out an angry redhead "Mitch would you tell this fucking idiot to go, he won't listen to me." The frantic fake redhead currently yelling at Mitch is Donnie's girlfriend—Jennifer Ramos. She's got bright fire engine red locks that match her angry personality. She's always yelling about one thing or another. It's annoying, but giving the situation, Buttercup thinks her reaction is appropriate.

"Where's Donnie?" asks Mitch, less frantic than Jenni but just as worried.

And who is Donnie? Donnie is a grade A asshole who also happens to be Mitch’s oldest friend, having grown up in neighboring trailer homes. Donnie is Mitch’s complete opposite, he’s a firecracker, ready to go off at any second, and is usually the one getting the rest of them into trouble.

“Why she here?” The question was asked by another of Mitch’s friends— Craig Hale. He wobbles a little from side to side. She's guessing the Heineken in his hand is not the first of the night.

"Oh for fuck's sake! Really Mitch? We're having a crisis here, and you decide to bring your little girlfriend." Sneers Jenni.

Donnie may be the biggest asshole, but he isn't the only one. Mitch's friends don't really like her. They are constantly making snide comments about her— never in front of Mitch, but always within her earshot. They talk shit about her, talk about how she's not good enough to hang with them.

They think she’s some preppy goody two shoes—like her sisters.

 _PPFFTTT_. That could not be further away from the truth. Buttercup is nothing like her sisters—case in point she actually likes hanging out with these losers. No way her sisters would willingly do such a thing.She can just picture it; Blossom turning her nose up at the _bad kids_ and Bubbles nervously avoiding eye contact. Buttercup wouldn’t do that.

So yea, Mitch's friends can be assholes, but newsflash everyone is sort of an asshole.These guys are just more upfront about it. She actually likes that, which is why she bites her lip anytime she catches them saying shit about her.

"Where's Donnie?" Mitch repeats, ignoring Jenni’s question.

“He’s up there. _Pinche estupido._ ”

We look up to see a drunk Donnie on a skateboard about four floors up, teetering on the edge of an unfinished floor. 

“DONNIE! What the fuck! Get down from there!”

“HEY! Look, the grease monkey finally showed up. Took you long enough! ” Laughs Donnie as he sways from side to side.

“Why’d you guys let him go up there?”

“It’s not like we didn’t try to stop him.”

“We have to go up there and get him.”

“Look, we were willing to skate around on the ground floor and the first two levels, but I’ll tell you what I told Donnie—there's no fucking way I'm going up there." Says Craig.

“Christ, really? Stevie, what about you? I need someone to help me carry him down.”

Stevie is the baby of the group, a year younger than everyone else, but tall and skinny as a beanpole. He's the quite one of the group, so it comes as no surprise to Buttercup when he merely shakes his head at Mitch’s instance that he help him get Donnie down.

“I’ll do it.” Says Buttercup.

“Please. Like you'd go up there." Jenni scoffs.

“Just 'cuz the rest of you guys are too chicken doesn’t mean I am.” 

“Hey! I’m not a chicken.” Yells Craig, throwing his beer bottle to the ground and smashing it.

“Craig!” Yells his girlfriend, Lauren, throwing her arms around her boyfriend to steady him. Geez, how much did these guys have to drink? "Listen, Buttercup, it's nothing against you personally, but don't you think it's a little dangerous. We wouldn't want you to fall and get hurt. Right, Mitch?" Buttercup knows Lauren is genuine in her concern for her. Lauren can be a bit ditzy at times, and too eager to please for her liking, but she's the only one of Mitch's friends that actually seems to like her.

“Lauren’s right, BC. You’re not going up there.”

“Mitch you’re going to need help hauling Donnie’s ass down here, and everyone else is drunk.” Buttercup throws down her board and walks away from Mitch and everyone else, "So are you coming or what?" 

Mitch yells after her, but Buttercup has already reached the elevator attached to the side of the building. Mitch follows and walks into the narrow little elevator a protest on the tip of his tongue, but Buttercup closes the elevator doors and presses the button that slowly moves them upwards. Mitch wisely chooses to shut up, knowing there's no point in arguing now.

They reach the fourth floor and set out. It’s more finished than Buttercup initially thought; the only things missing are walls and flooring.

“I can’t believe you guys made it up here!” Laughs Donnie, “At least you guys didn’t pussy out like those fuckers down there.”

"Although…" Donnie walks closer to them, away from the ledge, and Buttercup is so relieved that he's not in danger of falling that she doesn't even realize how close he's gotten to her. “I’ve got to say cupcake; I'm real surprised you had the guts to come up here."

“Knock it off, Donnie. We’re getting you down and then we’re getting the hell out of here.”

"Why the hell would I do that? I haven't completed my final trick yet."

Final trick? Buttercup looks at the skateboard still in Donnie's hand. Was he thinking of jumping down on that thing?

“You’re crazy and drunk. Do you even have any idea whose property this is? We have to go—Now!”

Mitch grabs Donnie's arm and starts pulling him away.

“The fuck I do.” Donnie pulls back and punches him, landing a blow on Mitch’s jaw.

“Mitch!”

Buttercup goes to Mitch’s side. There’s no blood, thankfully, it must not have been that hard a hit, but she’s sure it’ll leave a nasty bruise.

“Donnie, what the fuck!” 

“Oh, fuck off! It wasn’t even that hard. Mitch stop being such a pussy!”

Mitch says nothing, appearing levelheaded as usual, but there’s tension in his shoulders. It looks like a fight may break out between the two. Buttercup stands between them; her arms stretched out; it’s a meaningless gesture because if the two want to fight, she won’t be strong enough to stop them. She looks around frantically, trying to come up with something to diffuse the tension.

She's not a quick thinker, at least not like Blossom, and has a hard time trying to come up with something. She toys with the idea of talking them out of it, but she doesn't possess Bubbles' charm, which might have helped her in this case.

Not that Donnie would listen.

She looks out to where Donnie was standing before they came up to retrieve him. She notices that there's a section of flooring missing between this side of the floor and the one across from them, on the other end of the building—at least 10ft long. On further inspection, Buttercup realizes that all the floors have the same type of division between the left sides and the ride sides of the building. It must be intentional.

She can’t imagine what trick Donnie thought he could pull off. Unless it was jumping from the fourth floor and not dying.

Then she spots the crane, and an idea starts to form.

“Ok, boys. As fun as this staring contest is, how about we do something more fun?”

Donnie hawks, “What the fuck are you talking about?”

“Buttercup” Mitch stress, “What are you doing?”

Buttercup chooses to ignore him, "A bet. Between you and me." She says gesturing to Donnie, "If I win, you have to come down."

Donnie relaxes, looking intrigued. “What you’d have in mind.”

“I do the trick.”

“WHAT!”

“Fuck that, why would I let you do _my_ trick.”

“Buttercup, you can’t—”

“To prove a point. You’re too drunk to do this. If I can land the trick without getting hurt, then you have to go down with Mitch, sober up.”

Donnie laughs, "If you can pull this off, then it will be fucking easy for me."

Buttercup frowns. She should have expected him to react like this— fucking asshole. None of them think anything of her. They all think she's some fucking porcelain doll, weak and vulnerable. Not brave. Not strong. Not cool enough to hang out with them. Just some fucking poser.

 _God_ , does that piss her off.

She yanks the skateboard right out of Donnie's hands. It's easy given his reflexes are jacked from the alcohol.

“Hey! Give it back you fucking bitch.”

Buttercup's frown deepens, and she marches to the edge of the floor.

“Buttercup!” Mitch yells coming after her

Buttercup points to the crane holding the metal beam. It's parked right in between the divisions of the floor. The construction workers must have been moving support beams to the fourth floor before it was time to punch out. There's a small distance between the beam and the edge of the floor, but if she's able to pick up enough speed and jump onto the beam, it will make for an awesome grind rail. The only thing that really scares her about doing this is where she'll land. There's a bigger distance between the end of the metal beam and the other side of the floor, and if she messes up in any way she could either a, plummet to her death or b, fall off the end and land head first into a cement mixer. She can't tell if the cement mixer has any cement in it, but she's not willing to find out. 

“I grind down that beam, stick the landing, and then we leave. All of us."

“And why would I do that? Don’t see how this befits me.”

“It’s a bet. I know you think I can't do it, so if I fail and fall then you get bragging rights and a chance to do the stunt yourself."

“You forget that if you fall you could die, Buttercup!”

“We’re on the fourth floor, Mitch. She's not gonna die—might break a few bones, though." 

“Enough! You in or out?”

Donnie actually shuts up for a minute. He looks to be mulling it over. If he were sober, or smarter overall, he’d realize that she’s playing him. The goal is to get his drunken ass downstairs without him doing anything stupid. He may think her bet is a great idea as it allows him to do what he wanted in the first place with an added bonus of watching her fall on her ass.

The catch is she doesn't intend to fail.

“You know what cupcake, go ahead. I could use a good laugh.”

“Donnie stop being an ass! Buttercup you don’t have to do this.”Mitch pleads.

“Good, but I need your word that you’re not going to go back on our bet if I win.”

“Not likely to happen, but fine. I promise I won’t bitch if you _miraculously_ don’t fall flat on your flat ass.”

Buttercup nods her head, and makes her way to the opposite side of the floor, near the elevator.

“Chickening out already? Pfftt, told you she couldn’t do it.”

“Donnie shut up! Buttercup I’m glad you finally came to yo—”

The rest of Mitch's words are a blur as Buttercup runs past him. She's fast, one of the fastest girls on the track team, so she's able to run past Donnie and Mitch without either one grabbing her. She just hopes she's fast enough to jump onto the beam. She reaches the edge of the floor and with all her might jumps. For a split second, she feels like she's flying and the feeling is so amazing that she doesn't even entertain the idea of falling. 

She positions the board underneath her feet just as she feels gravity pull her down, a second later she lands on the metal beam. It's a rough landing, but Buttercup doesn't care because Donnie was right. This is fucking awesome!

The wind billows around her, cool and refreshing as she grinds down the length of the beam. She's having so much fun she doesn't even think to look down. She has never felt a rush like this. It's exciting, thrilling, and makes her feel invincible.

Nothing can touch her up here.

The beam is at a slight angle. The end of the beam furthest from her dips lower than the other end of the beam. She thinks it will come to her advantage; it will help land on the other side of the floor without having to jump so high. Except there’s one thing she doesn’t take into account; because of the dip at the end of the beam, as she glides down she starts to pick up speed. A lot of speed.

She begins to hear shouts from down bellow. She's not sure if they were screaming before or not as she was so caught up in the feeling of awesomeness from her success. Right now it's not awesome. It's fucking terrifying.

She picks up more speed, and she starts to hear a grating sound, she turns her head slightly back and sees sparks start to flight out from the back of Donnie's skateboard.

“SHIT!”

The board begins to wobble, and Buttercup has a hard time maintaining her balance. She's just reached the end of the beam when one of the back wheels breaks off. The board dips down right when she was about to jump off, and she loses any semblance of balance she had left. 

She falls.

“BUTTERCUP!”

She should be thinking about how much it's going to hurt when she lands on the ground, about the bones she’ll break, about possible getting so hurt she won’t be able to get back up. She should be seeing her life flash before her eyes, but instead, the only thing she can think of is how angry her sister will be.

She pictures Blossom lecturing her about this, telling her she's making bad choices, putting her life in danger, making friends with the wrong crowd; her hand annoyingly perched on her hip, an icy look on her face. It _infuriates_ her.

Aggravates her like when Donnie and his friends make fun of her.

Like when Bubbles cries.

Like when her father died.

“Arrugh!” Buttercup lets out a cry of frustration.

She will not fail. She is _not_ losing this bet.

She stretches out her arms, hoping to latch on to something— _anything_. Luckily she manages to grab onto the edge of the second floor. Donnie’s skateboard continues to fall behind her until it crashes into the cement mixer and breaks.

Fuck. Donnie is going to be so pissed.

She struggles pulling herself up but eventually manages. She lays down on the floor, dust flying around her as she does, and tries to catch her breath. 

Two things come to mind at that moment.

_I can’t believe I did that._

And.

_Fuck, I lost the bet._

Once her heartbeat slows down, the pounding in her ears go away and she's able to hear various shouts from the others.

“Buttercup!”

“That was so cool!”

"Bitchin'!"

“Fucking awesome!”

“Holy shit!”

Buttercup rolls up to her knees and looks down at all the shocked faces. Even though she didn't stick the landing everyone seems to be extremely impressed with what she did. A prideful smile works its way on her face.

She looks up to the fourth floor where Donnie and Mitch stand. Donnie doesn’t look too happy, but she expected that. What really bums her out is how instead of looking excited, or proud, or relieved even Mitch looks disappointed—like how she imagined Blossom would.

And it angers her just the same.

* * *

 

“Oh my God! That was so cool! Okay, I’ll be honest I so didn’t think you would do it.” Gushes Lauren.

“For fucks sake, she didn’t even stick the landing. And it was my fucking idea first!”

“Shut up Donnie, you’re just made ‘cuz she broke your board.”

After Buttercup narrowly avoided death, she was able to convince everyone to leave. As she expected, Donnie went against his word and started bitching about how she didn't stick the landing, which, yes, she didn't, but given the fact that she is lighter than Donnie and sober she doesn't think he would have been able to pull off the trick with nearly half the success she did.

Donnie didn't agree, but since his skateboard broke and no one was willing to lend them theirs there was nothing he could do about it. So now as they make their way out of the Rot, Donnie won't quit complaining. It's annoying, but the fact that everyone else is praising her makes up for the fact.

She feels amazing!

Not only does she feel like a complete badass but she also feels like these guys _finally_ like her now, like she's been deemed good enough to hang with them. Donnie still hates her, more now that she took his thunder, and his girlfriend isn’t much of a fan of hers either but at least she's not being nasty towards her. That's all you can really hope for with Jennifer Ramos. 

“You’re getting me a new one by the way.”

“Yea, yea. I will, now will you stop your bitching.”

Donnie flips her off, and everyone laughs, everyone but Mitch that is. He hasn't said a word since they left the construction site. Buttercup doesn't know what to make of it, other than he's still none too pleased about what she did. But why? Buttercup can't figure out. She knows he was against the whole idea, but it's none of his business what she chooses to do or not do. The least he could do is be supportive.

Or at least relieved that she survived, for fuck's sake.

"So why did you guys come down to Rot? The ramps at the curb too boring for you now?"Buttercup asks, referring to the skate park they normally go to —The Curb.

“Not for us, although I bet they’re going to look stupid easy for you now.” Says Craig.

“Donnie wanted to come see the H.I.M building.”

“Lauren, shut up! That’s none of her business.” Says Jenni, elbowing Lauren.

“Ow! Why? She asked.”

"Wait you came here on purpose? Why?" Mitch asks, speaking for the first time since leaving the construction site.

Nobody says anything and Donnie merely shrugs his shoulders, “I dunno. We were drunk.”

He’s clearly hiding something and everyone is helping him do it.

"Even drunk, nobody wants to hang out in the Rot. So why'd you guys come here?" Buttercup asks

"Jesus! I'm dropping out, okay. That good enough for you, cupcake?"

Buttercup is startled by Donnie's extreme reaction to a simple question, but to be honest, she's not really surprised that Donnie is dropping out. He skips most of his classes anyway.

"I heard HIM is recruiting, and I knew he was building something out here, so…”

“So you decided to come out here at night, and what? Mess up HIM's property? How's that going to get you a job?"

“I dunno. I was drunk remember.”

“You still are.” Laughs Craig.

“Whatever…I guess I wanted a job on his construction crew." He mumbles. "Most of HIM's hires are high school drop outs. I know some of them— told me about the building. Thought I could talk to the foreman, but when we got there everyone had left. So I thought why not take advantage of the situation, have a couple of beers, skate around a bit."

"Yea until things got out of control." Jenni mumbles.

Donnie throws his arm around her, "Awe, were you worried about me, baby? That's hot."

"Fuck off! I'm still pissed at you." Jenni slaps his arm, and Donnie laughs. Mitch chooses to say nothing. If he's at all upset about Donnie dropping out, he doesn't let on. He probably saw this coming.

"I can't believe I'm going to say this, but I think Donnie is right. Why go on with school when we can just get a job with HIM."

"Craig no! You can't drop out! Who will keep me company in class—and what about prom!"

"Fuck Prom." 

"Buttercup?" Lauren gasps. "You're not going to prom? That's the only upside of being an upperclassman."

Everyone looks at her curiously. Prom is such a mainstream and preppy school event; of course, they'd expect her to want to go.

"Dresses, cheap decorations, and bad music? No thanks, I think I'll pass."

"Well look who's being a little rebel. Next thing you know you'll be decked out in black and sporting a Mohawk.'' teases Donnie.

Buttercup merely rolls her eyes. Donnie is grasping at straws, there is no way he can lessen how amazing she feels.

"Don't drop out Craig. Those condos will be finished soon and then what? There's only so much work in Townsville—even less if you don't have a diploma."

Donnie huffs, "Thanks for the support, Mitch."

"Just saying."

"He's right, baby. Stay in school with me." Pleads Lauren.

"Actually," Stevie cuts in quietly, "HIM is proabbly going to be needing alot more help, and proabbly for a long time too."

"What the hell are you talking about, Stevie?"

What the hell is he talking about?

"Apparently those condos back there are just one of many that they're planning on bulding out here."

"In the Rot?"

Stevie nods his head.

Development? In the Rot? That's so strange. The Rot is like the sinkhole of Townville—why would anybody bother upgrading it? Not that she doesn't thinks it's a good idea, but anytime anybody has tried to do anything to imporve the Rot it has been a gigantic failure.

"How the hell do you know that?" Asks Craig

Stevie shrugs his shoulders, "Just do."

"Huh, well, looks like dropping out is looking like a great idea now—Isn't Mitchie?"

"Not really, Donnie. Do you really think they're going to go through with those plans? Who would even want to come live in the Rot."

"Mitch is right." Buttercup adds. "Those plans always fall through."

Jenni snorts, "Of course you'd side with Mitch. What you guys sleeping together now?"

"NO!" Buttercup protests, face red with embarrsment. She looks to Mitch for back-up but he's not looking at her. He's not saying anything either.

God! Is he still made at her? What the hell?

Lauren giggles, "You're being auwfully quite, Mitch."

"What are you guys actually sleeping together?" asks a stunned Craig.

"Dude." Mitch responds, soudning disgusted. "No."

"Figures," mummbles Donnie. "I don't expect girls from the 'burbs to put out so easily."

"Oh and us trailer trash girls do?" Jennie questions angirly.

"Babe, that's not what I meant."

"Then what did you mean!"

The angry couple begins to argue, eveyone finds it amusing since they do it so often. The topic of her and Mitch sleeping together is forgotten, as eveyone begins to laugh at the colorful language flying betwenen the two lovebirds.

But the only thing Buttercup can focus on is how disgusted Mitch sounded about the idea of sleeping with her. It's not like she want to sleep with Mitch either, at least not now. But...is she really that _repulsive_.

She sneaks a peek at Mitch, who like her isn't laughing at the couple's antics. He's looking at the ground, avoiding eye-contact with her.

Nothing bothers Mitch, not that his friends are dropping out of school, not that Donnie talks shit about her in front of him, and not even the fact that eveyone apparently thinks they're sleeping together.

But the one time she sees him upset it's about fucking car rims, and about her doing something completly fucking awesome!

Buttercup clenches her fist tight, her short chipped nails digging into her skin. She's pissed, she's hurt. She just wants to go home.

"Hey guys, I think I should start heading home. It's late. See ya."

Buttercup is the only one that lives in the opposite direction from eveyone else. They still haven't left the Rot, but she figures if she doesn't start heading in that direction now, it'll take longer to get home. No reason to upset Blossom any further she proabbly already is.

She doesn't know her way around the Rot, but she's planning on walking in the general direction of her house. There's bound to be a bus somewhere.

The group shouts their goodbyes, conituing in the same direction.

Mitch says nothing.

* * *

 

Unfortunately, she hasn't spotted any bus stops, at least none in her direction. She's not sure where she's going, but she's sure that if she follows the major street she's on that she'll eventually reach a street she recognizes, a street she can hopefully take home.

It's dark, really dark. Most of the street lamps don't work. Buttercup isn't afraid of the dark, but considering she's in an unknown environment—a dangerous unknown environment—a little panic starts to set in.

Mitch was right, there's no activity until nighttime in the Rot. Earlier when they had been looking for Mitch's friends they didn't see anybody, but now that the sun has set there's a lot more people out. They're not doing much, just sort of hanging around. They look at her when she walks by, and it unnerves her. 

“Hey! Mami!” someone yells at her, “You looking for a good time?” Where she not in the Rot she would have flipped the guy off, but she's not going to do something so stupid, so instead she walks away faster. Guys like these are like rapid dogs— if you run, they will chase you.

“Hey! Where you going.” The guys yell. She turns her head to see they’ve gotten up from where they were sitting.

Not wanting to risk them coming after her, she detours down an alleyway. Once out of sight she takes off running. She’s not sure what’s going to be on the other side of the alley, but as long as it's away from those guys, she's fine.

She reaches the other side and is glad to see a functioning street lamp. It's across the street; it's yellow tint illuminating a small little bar, and half the street. She sees a bus approaching, going in the direction she's heading. She looks around but can't find a bus stop.

Damn.

She runs after it, going into the middle of the street to try and flag down the bus driver. She doesn't get far before the bus passes her. She stops running; there's no way she's going to catch up.

"Fuck!"

"Buttercup."Someone grabs her arm, startling her. She jumps around, ready to land a punch.

"Whoa, Buttercup. It's me."

"Mitch? What the hell are you doing here?"

"I came to find you, make sure you get home okay."

"Oh." Buttercup lowers her fist. That's sweet of him, but she's still mad at him for ignoring her earlier. For making her feel disgusting.

"You didn't have to do that. I can find my way home on my own." Buttercup begins to walk away.

"Buttercup, wait! It's late, and it's dangerous out here. You can't go home by yourself."

Buttercup stops and turns around, furious. "Who the hell are you to tell me what I can and can't do!"

Mitch looks stunned and confused. He holds up his hands, the universal sign of _'I mean no harm'_ and says nothing—like _always._

"Forget it."

"Wait, Buttercup!"

This time Buttercup doesn't wait; she keeps walking. "Buttercup!" Mitch calls out again, but Buttercup ignores him.

"I'm sorry!"

Buttercup halts, and turns back around, cautiously, "What are you apologizing for?"

Mitch looks at her uneasily. "To be honest, I'm not sure. But I know you're pissed off at me, and I didn't mean to imply you can't walk home on your own. But I am sorry for letting you walk home alone for one. It's dangerous out here, and you know that." 

Is he serious? Has he not realized how much of a jerk he has been towards her? Buttercup huffs, "You're one to talk. You were pissed off at me first!"

"What? I wasn't."

Buttercup gives him a deadpan look.

"Okay, I was a little...upset."

"Why? What did I do?" Buttercup asks, a hint of desperation in her voice. Why were you mad? Why were you disappointed? She feels a sting in her eye, the tell-tell sign of angry tears wanting to break free. She breaks eye contact with Mitch, shifting her gaze to some point over his shoulder.

A man in a crumpled suit exists the bar. He is clearly drunk, barely able to stand straight. He stumbles around a bit before bending over and hurling over the sidewalk.

It's disgusting, but it helps keep the angry tears at bay.

"I just...I got freaked out I guess. Look, I didn't like that you jumped off the fourth floor of an unfinished building. Did it look cool, yes, but that's not the point. You let Donnie and everyone just kinda..." Mitch sighs, "You know you don't have to be like them to hang out with us right?"

Like them? What the hell does that mean? What? Does he think they pressured her into jumping off that building, or something? She decided that on her own. Mitch should recognize the difference! She doesn't need another mother hen telling her what she can and can't do.

"Mitch, I—" Before she can get the rest of her words out, Mitch pushes her to the side, narrowly avoiding being run over by a car.

They hit the ground, _hard_. "Holy shit, Buttercup are you okay?" Buttercup gets up slowly and winces. She didn't break anything, but there is a large scrape on her right arm, from her shoulder to elbow.

"Fuck! Who drives like that!"

The car continues forward, driving fast and reckless. It's a nice car—vintage, but with no license plates. Weird.

The car continues forward, even faster and swerves onto the opposite sidewalk, the one with the bar and streetlight, and before Buttercup can even blink or call out a warning, the car runs over the drunk man. He hits the windshield, flies up and then lands on the ground. The car doesn't stop or slow down.

"Oh my GOD! Oh my GOD!" Buttercup gets up and runs to the man, Mitch following after her.

"Hey! Man! Are you okay? Can you get up?" Buttercup calls out. The man remains unmoving. "Oh my God! He's seriously hurt. Mitch call an ambulance!"

"Buttercup." says Mitch.

"Hey! Man, get up! Can you hear me? There's an ambulance on the way."

"Buttercup."

"Hey! Sir!" Buttercup tries shaking the man, trying to get some response from him.

"Buttercup,"

Buttercup whips around, hysterical and frightened. "Mitch what are you doing! Call someone!"

"Buttercup," Mitch says again, calmly. "He's dead."

 

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

It was a good morning.

Great, in fact!

Bubbles had managed to wake up before either of her sisters. That was quite a feat! Buttercup isn't normally an early riser, so it wasn't that hard to wake up earlier than her. Blossom, on the other hand, is normally always the first one up. Well, not today! Today Bubbles woke up first, and she knew exactly what she was going to do!

Bubbles quietly makes her way downstairs, not wanting to risk waking up her sisters and ruining her morning.Once downstairs the first thing she does is brew a fresh pot of coffee. She personally hates the taste, but Blossom loves it. Buttercup says the only reason she drinks it is because it makes her seem more grown up, but Bubbles knows better.

Since Blossom was always the first one up, she would take it upon herself to make their dad his fresh cup of coffee every morning. Bubbles guesses that over time Blossom grew to like the bitter hot beverage. Blossom stopped drinking it for a while though, refusing to even go near the coffee maker. But with her new job, Blossom has steadily gone back to drinking it. She probably has an unlimited supply at work and got hooked on the stuff again.

Bubbles goes to the cupboard and pulls out Blossom's favorite mug; it says _Great Minds Need Great Fuel_ on it. It was a present from their dad, and Blossom loves it—well, Bubbles thinks she still loves it. She hasn’t used it in a really long time. But she is sure Blossom will appreciate the gesture.

As the coffee brews, Bubbles starts pulling out various ingredients for breakfast. She has the whole thing planned out.She's going to make everyone's favorite dishes—just like their dad used to.

She starts pulling out the eggs, bacon, and sausage, and a disgusted look replaces her happy one. Bubbles doesn’t eat meat, or fish, or chicken, or basically anything that was once alive. She also started weaning herself off eggs. She just couldn't bear the thought of eating poor defenseless baby chicks. The only problem is that neither of her sisters is vegetarian, and Buttercup especially enjoys eating big portions of bacon and eggs in the morning. Bubbles looks down at the packets of meat she holds in her hands. She is going to have to fry these—an innocent piggy and baby chicks. The idea makes her stomach turn. She toys with a loose strand of hair, uncertain of what to do.

“Maybe I should just make pancakes?” she mumbles, then shakes her head. Don’t be ridiculous Bubbles, it’s not like you’re going to eat them. This is for your sisters. It will make them happy!

Resolved not to let the dead animals get her down, Bubbles begins to get busy making everyone's favorite dishes. It takes her a little over half an hour to get everyone's dish done, and she is very surprised that Blossom hasn't gotten up yet. Not wanting to look a gift horse in the mouth, Bubbles hurries to make everyone's breakfast presentable. She grabs a pale green plate and piles it high with sausage, bacon, eggs, and for an added hint of sweetness, puts some waffles on the side. Just the way Buttercup likes it.

Next, she grabs a pink plate and places some bacon, eggs, and pancakes along with a small bowl of Greek yogurt with blueberries—brain food, as her father use to say. Finally, for herself, she made a big stack of smiley chocolate chip pancakes with banana slices on top.

_Always start your day with a smile._

Gosh, does this all look delicious!

As she arranges the plates on the table, she can't help but feel something is missing.

 _Oh!,_ She thinks, _I know!_

Bubbles runs out the garden and picks out a few of the daisies she planted last spring.She runs back inside, gleeful that her sisters haven't woken up yet. She places the daisies in a vase and sets it in the center of the table. 

“Perfect.”

A loud bang startles her. She hears a few footsteps stomping upstairs followed by another bang. It seems her sisters have gotten up, well, at least one of them. Not knowing which one it is, she quickly hurries and pours out three glasses of freshly squeezed OJ and sets them on the table. Then she goes over and starts preparing Blossom’s coffee—a lot of cream and no sugar.

She's just finished making the coffee when she hears the bang of a door opening again. Someone rushes downstairs, and when Bubbles peaks out from the kitchen, she is delighted to see that it's Blossom.

“Blossom! Good Morning! I made you some—”

“Not now, Bubbles. I’m late for work.” Blossom interrupts, looking panicked and hurried. Blossom is rapidly braiding her hair, so she’s faced away from Bubbles, and has yet to notice the cup of coffee in her hand.

“Late? What? How?”

Blossom huffs, “I overslept, apparently. My shift starts earlier today, and I didn’t realize I had my alarm set for the wrong time. So now I’m running late.”

“Oh.”Bubbles says sadly, “Does that mean you won’t have time for breakfast?”

Blossom has just finished braiding her and is now darting around stuffing things into her giant bag. "No. I'm going to eat at the diner."She grabs her keys and makes for the door.

“Blossom, wait—”

Blossom turns back around, “Before I go, I just want you to know that I’ll be home a little late. I want to get as many hours as I can before school starts. Okay, now did I forget anything?” Blossom pauses, her gaze unfocused as she thinks over anything she forgot.

“Blossom before you go—”

“No. I think that’s it. If you need anything, text me okay. Now, I really have to go.”

“But…” Bubbles interjects, holding up the cup in her hand.

“Bye!” Blossom yells out behind her as she closes the front door.

“Your coffee.”Bubbles look down at the mug in her hands dejectedly. Her perfect breakfast is ruined. Disappointed, she walks back to the kitchen and pours the coffee down the sink.

She understands that Blossom had to leave. She has only been working at the diner for a little over a month now, and she doesn't want to lose her job over something small like oversleeping. Bubbles lets out a sigh, a part of her feels guilty for Blossom being late. She should have realized that something was wrong sooner. Blossom never sleeps in. If only she had woken her up earlier, she could have gotten ready on time and had time to eat breakfast.

It's a shame Blossom won't be able to join her and Buttercup for breakfast, Bubbles was hoping the meal would be a good bonding experience for all of them. Things have gotten so much worse between her sisters. Ever since Buttercup came home late a few days ago, the tension between them has become unbearable.

Blossom was livid, understandably. Buttercup came home at midnight. It's the latest she's ever been out, and Bubbles was honestly terrified that something bad had happened to her sister. Her oldest sister nearly got assaulted a month ago, and Buttercup's job isn't exactly in the safest part of town, even if it is closer than where Blossom works.

Blossom had come home tired that day, pulling her first double shift. She had told Bubbles that she would be home later than usual, and when their street had gone dark, and neither of her sisters was home, she knew a fight was going to break out. Bubbles nervously tugged her pigtails all night hoping the next person walking through the front door would be Buttercup.

It was Blossom.

She was so tired. She barely acknowledged Bubbles as she made her way to her bedroom. Blossom was so close to just falling asleep, but then she asked, like the perfect sister that she is, _Where’s Buttercup?_ Bubbles had never been a good liar. When Blossom became aware that her rebellious little sister was not home, she lost it. She must have drunk four cups of coffee that night waiting for Buttercup to arrive.

Fifteen minutes before midnight Buttercup staggers in, unknowing, or maybe uncaring of her sister's wrath. Like an overflowed water balloon, Blossom explodes. Demanding to know where she was, why she was home so late, did she have any idea how worried they were. Bubbles watched, cowered behind the banister at the bottom the stairs. Normally, the fights between her sisters were ugly shouting matches, each yell louder than the next. Ugly things were said, things sister shouldn't say to each other. Her sisters, being the stubborn and prideful people that they are, never apologized, so the hurtful remarks they hurled at each other would hang in the air for weeks until the next fight broke out.

This fight was different though. Buttercup usually so fiery and passionate even when unprovoked didn't’ say a thing. She just stood there, staring at some faraway point, while her sister yelled at her. Buttercup’s unresponsiveness quickly put out Blossom’s fire, who was equal perturbed by Buttercup's odd behavior. She switched tactics, going from angry mama bear to concerned sister. Blossom's concerned tone must have gotten through to Buttercup, and she snapped out of whatever trance she was in. She yelled at Blossom to leave her be and stormed past them to her room.

Blossom and Buttercup haven't spoken since, which is usual after a fight, but what's strange is that Buttercup hasn't spoken to _anyone_ in the last few days. She's locked herself in her room. She's even missed work, and she _loves_ going to work. Blossom says she’s being stubborn and dramatic, but Bubbles thinks there’s something more serious going on. Bubbles wishes Buttercup would just tell them.

She taps her fingers on the table; maybe she should talk to Buttercup? Try to pry whatever is bother her. Bubbles looks at the clock. It's not even nine yet; there's no way Buttercup is up. She lets out a sigh, she wants to check on Buttercup, but she doesn't want to upset her by waking her up. To say that Buttercup isn't a morning person would be an understatement. Bubbles busies herself cleaning up the kitchen to pass the time until her sister gets up. She washes the dishes, wipes down the counter tops, puts away Blossom's breakfast, and yet; her sister doesn't awaken. 

_Might as well start to get ready._

After nearly two hours of showering, picking out the right outfit, doing her hair in her signature pigtails, and putting on just enough make-up that Blossom won't be able to notice, she walks downstairs to find, much to her disappoint, that Buttercup is still asleep. According to the grandfather clock in their living room, it's almost eleven, and she's sure that the food on the table has grown cold.

Still, her pancakes sure do look yummy. Maybe she could just take a small bite?

Bubbles looks at the clock again, the hands moving closer to eleven. She'll have to leave soon. She promised Dr. Baker she'd arrive by noon. With a sigh, Bubbles goes back upstairs to do the thing she's been avoiding doing. She stands outside Buttercup's room; the Keep Out sign glaring at her. With a deep breath, she slowly opens the door, every squeak making her more nervous. It's dark and messy in Buttercup's room, her thick black curtains keeping any light from entering. She takes a few steps inside, avoiding the piles of clothes Buttercup has thrown all over the floor. Blossom has been so busy; she's hasn't had time to get on Buttercup's case to clean her room. Bubbles peers over Buttercup's sleeping form. She's sleeping on her side, faced away from the door.

“Buttercup?” Bubbles whispers softly, “Are you up?” No movement from the sleeping brunette. “Buttercup?” Bubbles tries again, and again nothing. With a sigh, Bubbles retreats from her sister’s room and quietly shuts the door behind her. Poor Buttercup. All she does all day is sleep. She doesn’t go out, play video games, she hardly even eats. Something is wrong. Maybe she’s finally processing their father’s death? That a good thing, at least Bubbles is sure that it’s a good thing.

It’s a difficult thing to process, obviously, but if months of crying and inconsolable sadness has taught her anything, it’s that you have to give yourself time to grief. It’s like that time she helped Dr. Baker remove a rotten tooth from a very angry bulldog. The dog was in pain, yes, and yanking that tooth out was defiantly adding to that pain, but afterward, the dog felt much better. If she gives Buttercup her space, she's sure that her sister will feel much better after a while—maybe. Hopefully. 

She herself is still working on feeling better.

Bubbles walks back downstairs, reheating her cold pancakes before finally enjoying her breakfast. It's not exactly how she envisioned her morning, but hopefully, Blossom will bring home dinner from the diner, and they'll get a chance to sit down together and air things out later tonight. The grandfather clock chimes at eleven just as Bubbles has finished eating. She writes a cute little note for Buttercup and leaves it on the table before leaving. She's just grabbed her bag and is heading out the door when she spots her small blue Polaroid camera, sitting where she left it four months ago. 

_FLASH!_

_“Ugh! Bubbles cut it out!”_

_Bubbles giggles, fanning out the picture she just took of Buttercup. She doesn’t realize it yet, but she has chocolate frosting smeared on her cheek. Cute!_

_“I want daddy to see everything he missed.”_

_“And is an image of Buttercup with chocolate on her face really something he needs to see?” Blossom asks, holding a plate of warm, fresh brownies._

_“What? Dammit! Why didn’t you say anything? Bubbles give me the picture!”_

_“No!” Bubbles laughs, running away from Buttercup._

_“Bubbles! I’m not playing. Give me the picture!” Buttercup chases after Bubbles, not having nearly as much fun as her little blond sister._

_“Girls! Careful! We just cleaned the place. I don’t want dad coming home to a messy house.”_

_The sisters stop their game of cat and mouse, both of them too excited to see their father to risk ruining his homecoming._

_“I’m so excited to see dad! This is the longest he’s ever been away.”_

_“Hmpf. You can say that again.”_

_“Buttercup, don’t tell me you’re still mad at dad. You know his work is important.”Blossom states._

_"Yeaaah…I know it's just…" Buttercup groans, "Whatever. I guess it doesn't matter; he's coming home today…Woopie! He's probably still mad at me, though."_

_“I’m sure he isn’t.” Blossom reassures, “ That was weeks ago, and he understands. None of us like it when he leaves.”_

_“Yeah! Cheer up, Buttercup! I’m sure he’s gonna be in a great mood when I show him all these pictures from your latest match.”_

_"Whatever. It wasn't like Citiesville was much of a challenge, anyway. Hey, can I get a brownie?" Buttercup asks, reaching for one. Blossom slaps her hand._

_“Ow. What the fuck?”_

_"Language. And no, we're going to wait until dad get's home to eat them."_

_“What? They won’t be warm by then!”_

_“Oh yes they will. Dad should be home any minute. His itinerary said his flight would be leaving by nine, so he should be home soon.”_

_“Hey, don’t you find it weird that he didn’t call when he landed?” Buttercup asks._

_“Well, now that you—”_

_KNOCK-KNOCK_

_"He's here!" Bubbles jumps up excitedly, running to the door to be the first to hug and kiss their father. She throws open the door, "Daddy—Oh! I'm sorry. I thought you were my dad." A tall man in a military uniform stands in front of her, stoic and intimidating. She places her small Polaroid camera off to the side, on the small table by the door. "Hi."_

_“Bubbles, who’s at the door?” Blossom comes up behind her. “Oh. Hello. May I help you?”_

_“Miss.” The man says, tipping his cap. “Is this the Utonium residence?”_

_“Yes. I’m Blossom Utonium.”_

_“Is there an adult present?”_

_“No. Our aunt is at work. May I ask what this is about?”_

_“I’m sorry miss. This is sensitive information. There really should be an adult present.”_

_“Yeah, well, our aunt works long hours. So unless you’re willing to wait around until after dark, I’d suggest you just tell us and move along.”_

_“Buttercup!” Blossom hisses._

_"Very well." The man sighs and hands over a silver vase._

_“A vase?” Bubbles questions._

_"It's an urn," Blossom says, looking pale as a ghost._

_“Oh my God.” Buttercup whispers._

_“I’m sorry to be the one to tell you this, but there’s been an accident. At your father’s lab. He didn't make it." The military man continues, explaining the details of the accident. Something to do with a fire, but Bubbles isn't too sure because as soon as he states that her father is gone, she collapses. Everything becomes muted and blurry, and after a while, everything goes black. It isn't until later, when she wakes, that her sisters tell her she cried herself hysterical until she passed out._

Bubbles reaches for the camera, intending for this to be the day she finally starts using it again. Her hand halts, hovering above the small object. Four months is the longest she’s gone without using it since her father gave it to her. She loves using it; it's how she discovered her passion for photography. It's the best gift her dad ever gave her.

_She still has all those pictures she took, the ones she took to show her dad what he missed while he was away so that it'd feel like he was always here._

_Not today._

She drops her hand and leaves. Leaving her camera to gather dust.

* * *

 

Bubbles arrives at the clinic earlier than she had promised Dr. Baker. The good doctor doesn't mind though; she is always happy for the help. 

"Hi, Mr. Gerald. Hello, Rudy. Good morning Ms. Sanchez," Bubbles says, addressing some of the familiar patients. She stops by a particularly colorful guy. "And a special good morning to you Crackers." The parrot, resting on his owner's shoulder, squawks "Good Morning. Good morning." He repeats. With a smile, Bubbles heads back to the doctor's office.

“Bubbles. Good to see you, as always.” An old woman greets.

“Hi, Dr. Baker. Doing well?”

The doctor sighs. “My arthritis is acting up, and I’ve been getting these splitting headaches.” She takes off her red cat-eye reading glasses. “I think it’s time for a new prescription.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry. Is there anything I can do to make you feel better?”

"No, at my age these things are to be expected. If anything, I'm having a good day." The older woman smiles, her wrinkles spreading on her face. Dr. Baker has run the local pet hospital for over 50 years. She should be retired by now, but she loves animals too much to abandon them when they need her the most. She's also ridiculously short-staffed, and she doesn't have the budget to hire more help. Bubbles doesn't care about the money, she loves animals as much as Dr. Baker, and is happy to help whenever she can.

“Since you mentioned it, there’s isn’t much you can help me with today.”

“Oh? Not even cleaning out your supplies?”

Dr. Baker laughs, “Well if you want to, then go ahead. But what I mean to say is, I’m taking on interns.”

“Interns? I thought you said you hated teaching.”

“I do.” Mrs. Baker sighs, “But it’s time I start looking for a replacement. I can’t keep ignoring father-time. I hired my first intern just last week. Student from UT, he’s starting today. ”

“Oh, Dr. Baker.” Bubbles lunges forwards, enveloping the much thinner woman in a hug. "I'm going to miss you!" 

"Bubbles! I'm not going anywhere yet. Besides, you'll see me around. Fido isn't thinking about closing down the store anytime soon, and he is definitely going to need your help. My poor pooch can hardly pick up a stack of newspapers."

Bubbles lets go of the frail woman, “Really? You mean it?”

“Of course I do. Why don’t you go over there now and help him out? I know he’d want to see your pretty face.”

“Are you sure you don’t need me? I can help break-in the intern.”

“That’s what I got the technicians for, and if I need you, I’ll just give Fido a quick call. It’s not like you’re going far, you’ll be right next door.”

Bubbles nods her head, “Ok. I’ll stop by later to say goodbye.”

“Alright, honey. See that you do.”

Bubbles exits the clinic, waving goodbye to the patients sitting in the waiting room. She doesn't have to go far to reach Mr. Baker's store. It's literally next door to the pet clinic. She enters the store to the familiar sound of excited dog barks, and bird chirps. If there is anyone else who cares about animals like Dr. Baker and herself, it's her husband—Fido Baker. 

Bubbles walks around a bit, greeting the various animals. Her favorite is a small black and white puppy. He's chatty and excitable. Just like her! She walks up to the front register, surprised not to see Mr. Baker. 

“Mr. Baker!”

Nothing.

“Mr. Baker! Are you in here!”

She hears a crash from the back.

“Mr. Baker!” Bubbles cries out concerned. She runs to the back to see poor old man Baker on his back, with a bunch of colorful hamster wheels on him. “Oh Gosh, are you okay?”

"Oh, I'm alright. Those hamster wheels were higher up than I thought." Bubbles clears away the wheels and helps the old man up.

"Thank you, sweetie. I tell you these shelves keep getting taller and taller, or maybe I'm just getting smaller." He mumbles.

“Mr. Baker, it’s dangerous for you to be back here. I can help with all the stocking.”

"Oh, it's alright. I may be old, but I'm not an invalid!" He grumbles and shuffles over to a large bag of dog food. He bends down and attempts to pick up the heavy bag. He lifts it about an inch off the floor before dropping it back down in a huff.

“Here. Let’s do it together” Bubbles says, picking up a side of the bag. Together they take the bag outside and feed all the overexcited pups. She's just finishing feeding a small golden retriever when he rushes towards her, more interested in licking her hand than the food in his bowl. 

“So, sweetie, how are you?”

“What?” She giggles distractedly, looking up at Mr. Baker.

Mr. Baker gives her a soft look, “How are things at home? Did your sisters resolve that fight you were telling me about?”

Bubbles sighs, taking her hand out of the cage and locking it. “They’re not even talking anymore.”

“Hmm. That’s a shame. Sisters should be there for one another. Have you tried talking to them?”

Bubbles tugs on a pigtail, “Sort of” She groans, “Ok, no I haven’t. They don’t really listen to me. I made them breakfast today so that we could all talk about it, but Blossom had to leave early for work, and Buttercup is probably still asleep.” Bubbles pauses, “Is…is it normal to sleep all day? Like, on purpose? It’s not like, a sign of depression or anything, is it? ”

“Sometimes all I want to do is sleep all day.” Mr. Baker laughs, “But I don’t suppose that’s a thing young people are too into doing. Why you ask?”

Bubbles shakes her head, “Oh nothing. One of my sisters has been sleeping a lot lately. Kinda worried about it.”

“I wouldn’t be. Your sisters work right? And school is starting up again soon. Heck, in this heat, who wouldn’t want to stay home and do nothing all day.”

Bubbles nods, slowly, a smile spreading on her face, “You’re right! That’s probably all it is. Blossom actually slept in today and woke up late for the first time in…ever. That job must really be taking a toll on her.” She closes another cage, the puppy rapidly enjoying the food, and sags down in defeat.

“You’re a good sister, and I’m sure your sisters know that.”

“Really? Even though I don’t…you know…contribute? Doesn’t that make me selfish?” Bubbles tugs on her pigtail harder, feeling frustrated in herself, but also fearing she may have insulted the man that employs her for free.

Mr. Baker sighs, "Bubbles, I really appreciate what you do for Twiggy and me, but if you're torn up about it, I won't object to you finding employment elsewhere. The pups sure would miss you though.”

“Really?” Bubbles gets up from her crouched position, raising to Mr. Baker’s eye-level. “Oh, but I don’t know. I really like working here. It’s the best job in the world!” A dog barks, highlighting her point.

“Don’t I know it.” Mr. Baker laughs, "It'll be a cold day in hell before I give this place up. Look, sweetie, do what you want, but if you're really stressed out about not helping out at home, and I can see that you are, then it might be time to spread those wings and fly little bird." 

Bubbles giggles, “Thanks. I’ll think about it.”

Mr. Baker bops her nose, “While you do, could you go organize the stock room? Got a new shipment last week that I haven’t gotten to yet.”

Bubbles nods her head skipping to the back. She always enjoys her talks with the Bakers. They never had any kids of their own—the animals in their lives being enough children for them—but they’re like the grandparents she never had. It’s a comfort working here, like a home away from home. She’s not thrilled about having to leave and work elsewhere.

Bubbles starts moving boxes around. Unpacking and stocking in easily reached places, it's not difficult, she's only an inch taller than Mr. Baker, and she's only 5'02". It'd be great if she could get a job nearby so that she could still come by and help the Bakers once in a while, but she knows she won't find anything. She already tried last year when she first started helping out at the clinic and pet store. At the time, she wanted a job to help pay for a designer prom dress she had seen in one of her fashion magazines. 

It was too expensive, her father had said, and Blossom said it was too unnecessary considering she wouldn't even be able to attend prom until this year. Looking back now, it does seem a little silly. To think her biggest problem was affording a sparkly dress. She had cried about too—wasted tears.

She's putting away a box when she trips over a hamster wheel on the floor. Mr. Baker must have forgotten to take them out front. She picks up the remaining hamster wheels and takes it out front for him."Mr. Baker you forgot—"

“It be a real shame if you found yourself on the opposite end of a gun, and the police didn’t get here in time. Who’d save you then?”

Bubbles pauses, surprised by the new voice. She peers out slowly, spotting a new figure standing opposite of Mr. Baker at the front register. He’s wearing a police uniform.

“This is the third time this year the rates have gone up. I can’t afford anymore. I’ll go out of business.”

The cop shrugs, “The price change ain’t up to me. ‘Sides, can you really put a price on your safety?”

"Mr. Baker?" She questions, voice shaking, although she doesn't know why. There's no harm with an officer around. Both figures snap their head in her direction. She lifts up the box in her hands, "You forgot the hamster wheels."

“Oh right. Thank you, you can put them over there.” He says nervously. Bubbles slowly makes her way over to the second aisle, keeping her head down.

The officer clears his throat, “Right, well, I’ll be back for my new…err…puppy in three days. Please have him ready by then.”

Bubbles watches the exchange while she puts away the hamster wheels. The officer excuses himself from Mr. Baker and then turns around, catching her staring. She turns back around, quickly.

“Hey, don’t I know you?”

Bubbles looks back up at the cop standing in front of her, Mr. Baker in the background looking anywhere but her.

“Um, I don’t think so?”

"No, yeah. You're one of those Untonium girls, right?"

Bubbles looks at him, really looks at him. He has graying brown hair, a bushy mustache, and a rather big potbelly you wouldn't expect to see on a cop. "Oh, yeah, you were the one that gave my sister a ride home...like a month ago." Bubbles' mood flips, feeling at ease with the nice man that saved her sister's life. A charming smile replaces her worried frown. "What was your name again?"

“Officer Brikowski, at your service.” He says with a jolly laugh. “You work here?”

“Yup!”

The officer nods, “Good to know.” He turns back around, “Three days, Fido.” He says, before walking out of the store. Bubbles goes back to stocking the hamster wheels. All negative feelings forgotten. "I wonder if he's going to train that puppy to be K-9 officer. Wouldn't that be cute!”

“You know him?”

Bubbles nods, "He saved Blossom's life. Remember, she almost got assault. I told you about it."

Mr. Baker nods, “Have you made up your mind about working elsewhere?”

Bubbles shrugs, “Not really. It’s kinda hard to let go of this place.”

“I think you should go.”

Bubbles pauses, “What?”

"I think you should go, find work elsewhere. It's what's best for you and your sisters."

“But…”

“When you’re done with that you can leave.”

“But, Mr. Baker—wait! Why…”

Her question hangs in the air as the normally gentle Mr. Baker slams the back door behind him. That's when she realizes how unusually quite the store is, not a single bark, meow, or chirp to be heard.

* * *

 

As promised she went back to the clinic to say goodbye to Dr. Baker. Bubbles offered to help her, but she looked just as frazzled as Mr. Baker and dismissed her rather quickly. She wasn’t sure what was going on, but she had a feeling that it had something to do with money. Maybe they were behind on some payments, and Officer Brikowski was sent to remind them that not paying was against the law. Bubbles wishes she could help, but she is having money issues of her own.

It was only one in the afternoon. She had planned on spending her whole day with the Bakers, now with nothing to do, she was faced with talking Mr. Baker's words seriously. It was rather harsh and unexpected what he said. Did he really want her gone? He said it was up to her to make the decision. She hadn't decided yet. Maybe, he's pushing her because he knows what's best for her. Maybe he could tell that she wasn't going to leave. 

A ping from her phone distracts her from her thoughts. It's a text message from Robin. She sent a picture of her rolling her eyes with her Grandma Birdie asleep in her rocking chair in the background.

_this is a literal snooze fest_

Another text message follows

_wyd?_

_I think I just got fired._ Bubbles responds

_can u be fired? they don't pay you_

_Yea…I guess…they don’t need me anymore :(_

_Awww…honey. Cheer up! You'll find a new place. Have u tried the mall??? It's literally heaven, but like better cuz shoes <3_

_lol:) I wish u were here_

_Me 2! Be back soon! I’ll give you like a million hugs_

_Promise?_

_Promise! :)_

Bubbles smiles half-heartedly at the text then tucks away her phone. Robin has been texting non-stop since her family road-tip began. Robin has lived next door to the Utoniums since before Buttercup could pronounce the letter R correctly. The four of them have been great friends for just as long too. Robin was really sad about having to leave her and her sisters over the summer, with everything that was going on, but she's sweet and texts them multiple times each day. It's a nice little pick-me-up whenever her or her sisters receive a text, Robin’s got an odd sense of humor and has no problems making fun of her family.

It sucks. Not having her here. It sucks not having anyone here. This summer has been so lonely. All of her friends are either on vacation or at cheer camp. She's had absolutely no one to talk to all summer. Part of it is her fault. She wasn't in her most friendly and social mood after her father's death. Her friends gave her space to grief, which is nice, except they haven't gotten in touch with her again. They're probably just busy. Despite feeling like the world ended, it actually just keeps on spinning. She can't blame people for going on with their lives.

Bubbles lets out a sad sigh. Maybe a trip to the mall is just what she needs. She could use a distraction. She could use some fun.

* * *

 

The only mall is the one downtown. It's the biggest mall she's ever seen, well it's the only mall she's ever seen, but still, it's pretty big! Before the financial downturn of Townsville, there were only small mom&pop businesses around, with a few chain stores here and there. Then the market crashed, and this giant temple of clothes, shoes and soft serve sprung up in the wake of all the closed businesses. The only reason she knows that is because her father complained about it every time they went to the mall. He really didn't like that the mall took away so many people's lively hoods. On the plus side, the mall does employ an awful lot of people.And she really hopes one of those people is her.

The mall is crowded, really crowded. It is the weekend, so it's expected, especially in this heat. More people have taken to going to the mall than the lake because at least the mall has air conditioning. Bubbles makes her way to her favorite store, squeezing past people and trying to avoid being bumped into. It’s hard when she’s as small she is, most people don’t even notice her.

She stops in front of a small shop. The logo above the doorway read's Meryl's Pearls, with a picture of a feminine hand holding glossy white pearls. She flattens her face against the display window in awe of the mannequins. They all look so beautiful and sophisticated, vintage but timeless. She knows it was harder for women back then, for women who dressed liked the mannequins in the display window, but when she pictures them now, all she sees are wonder women in chiffon dresses. Beautiful but vicious.

She walks inside, fingering the various clothes items on the racks, admiring the gorgeous and timeless fabrics. She’s never bought a dress here, feeling much too silly to wear one. Like a little girl playing dress-up in her mother’s heels. She usually only buys a top, or some cute accessories, and shoes! Lots and lots of shoes. She hasn't bought anything new in months. She could probably ask Blossom or her aunt for some money, but it's not right to just take and taken when they work so hard. 

"Hey, can I help you?" A bored teenage voice asks. Bubbles turns around to spot a rather dark dressing girl slumped behind the cash register. Her name is Molly, Meryl's granddaughter. She's met her four times before, but Molly never remembers her name. Meryl isn't the owner of the store, her daughter Margaret is, and according to her, Meryl isn't even alive anymore, but some of the most vintage pieces in the store belonged to her. Margaret opened the store after the market crashed, she got the idea when she had to resort to selling some of her mother's things to make ends meat. It's a shame to sell something so fine and personal. Bubbles couldn't understand why someone would do that, but she understands now. 

“Hi, Molly! Your mother not here today?” Bubbles says cheerfully.

Molly looks at her with large unblinking and uninterested eyes. “No. You gonna buy something?”

“Oh…ok, um, actually…” Bubbles starts, hesitantly, walking up to Molly, “I wanted to know if there were any job openings?”

“It’s the mall,” Molly says as if Bubbles is the biggest idiot in the world, “There’s lots of jobs.”

“No, I meant here, like in this store.”

Molly raises an eyebrow not looking amused. “Seriously?”

Bubbles is taken aback, not understanding Molly’s bitter attitude, “Yeah…is there a problem? Do I need to bring a resume or something?”

Molly snorts, “There’s like a million people outside and no one besides you, Blondie, has walked in all day. So, just in case you don’t understand, NO, there are no job openings here.” She looks away from Bubbles, lazily flipping the pages of her magazine. “Mom can’t even afford to pay me.”

_With an attitude like that, I’m not surprised._

Bubbles walks out of the store, humiliated. If there was anywhere in the mall she was sure she’d find work, it was Meryl’s Pearls, if only because Martha has known her for years. She rubs her eyes, wiping away some wayward tears. It wasn’t like Molly was even that mean, rude yes, but not too mean. Still, she feels the stinging behind her eyes. Gosh, she is such a crybaby!

_Think happy thoughts!_

Bubbles closes her eyes and takes a deep breath, calming herself enough that she no longer feels like crying. She looks around at all the people walking around. They all look so purposeful, knowing exactly what they’re doing and where they’re going. She lets out a sigh, no longer thinking coming to the mall was such a good idea. Maybe, if she gave it a few days, she can go back and talk to the Bakers. Reassure them that she’s fine and rather not work anywhere else.

She spots a hint of baby blue in the display window of a nearby store. Baby blue, her favorite color. The sign reads Nursery Rhymes on a giant plastic bottle. A baby store! How cute! Bubbles tugs on pigtail; well, she's here now. It might not hurt looking for some paid employment. That way Blossom can cut back on some of her hours, Buttercup too, and then they'd all have some more time to spend together. Yeah, she'd like that. 

She wipes her face dry of the reaming tears and takes another deep breath. She can do this. She's going in there, and she's getting a job. She's going to be a mature and hard-working girl, just like her sisters. Besides, she loves babies! How can they not hire her? 

* * *

 

They didn’t hire her.

Said she didn't know enough about infants and toddlers. Like how to potty train, normal brain development, or other stuff…like— _breast pumping_. Bubbles is pretty sure she could have won them over if she hadn’t pulled a face when they said _breast pumping_. But maybe they were right; she's just a kid what does she know about pregnancy and babies. Nothing. _Nada_. And if parents were going to be walking in and asking her questions like _that_ , then it’s best she didn’t get the job.

At least that is what she told herself, determine not to let another rejection get her down. But then she went to six other places, all of which turned her down. She was beginning to think that she was the problem. She for sure knows that the last place she went to was completely her fault. 

Her latest job search had led her to the food court, which is on the first level. As a vegetarian, she really didn't want to work as a fry cook ( no matter how happy it made Spongebob, she just knew it wouldn't be the same for her). Luckily, she had found a friendly vegan sandwich place. They served meat too but had more options for non-meat eaters. The guy working the counter was pretty cute too! His sandy wavy locks, were just—ugh!

She had managed to talk to him without making a fool of herself, which was a plus. His name was Brent, he’s a vegan, a Pisces, and he was backpacking through the U.S. before moving to Europe. So cool! He said that InterBread (the name of the sandwich place) was the only decent place in Townsville that offered organic and vegan options. He smiled after, and she couldn't help but agree. They got to talking and after he found out she was vegetarian, he introduced her to his manager. She managed to win him over too and was promised a job if she completed her probationary period without any problems.

She hadn't known that her probationary period started immediately, if she had, she might have been more careful. So happy was she at the chance of a real job that she jumped for joy. She literally jumped for joy. Arms stretched out like she was cheering on the football team waving her pom-poms around. She knocked over an older woman standing in line beside her. The older woman fell to the floor, spilling not only her sandwich but her wig as well. The old woman didn't take it as well as she had hoped, neither did her new manager. Brent just winced behind the counter, shaking his head.

She wanted to die.

That makes two jobs she’s been fired from in less than 24 hours. That’s got to be a world record. She was so embarrassed she went up to the second floor to hide in one of the photo booths. She’s been sitting in the photo booth for the past ten minutes. Her red, teary-eyed reflection mocking her. She wishes she were home right now, cuddled in bed with one of her stuffed animals. She lets a breath, a very sad sounding breath. She should just go home; maybe she can cuddle up next to Buttercup. She's probably still asleep, and won't even notice.

Bubbles gets out of the photo booth, the harsh lights of the mall assaulting her eyes. She blinks away the spots in her vision, and that's when she sees them. 

Kitty, Kim, and Kristen.

The golden trio, or as some people have taken to calling them—the Triple K's (they use to be called the KKKs, but that was shut down real quick—for obvious reasons). They're the real-life versions of Mean Girls, except they're not mean and Gretchen is Asian. They're beautiful, wealthy, and they always say the right things. They've got their lives figured out, and they're still just in high school.

They also happen to be good friends of hers, from the cheer team. They've known each other since they were twelve and first joined. She hasn't seen them all summer, or anyone else from the team. They all went away to cheer camp. She was supposed to go too, it was mandatory, but special accommodations were made for her. No one was going to force a grieving girl to cheer. She hadn't even known that the team had gotten back, no one told her anything.The girls are just getting out of the adjacent photo booth, giddy and laughing at their photos.

The girls are just getting out of the adjacent photo booth, giddy and laughing at their photos.

“Kitty? Kitty!”

A tall and slim girl looks around. Her platinum ponytail swaying as she does."Bubbles? Oh my God is that you?"

Bubbles walks up to them nodding her head. The girls hug and kiss each other on the cheek in greeting.

"Hey, Kim. Kristen. It's great to see you guys again. How was your summer? Did you finally get the helicopter toss?" She jokes, the helicopter toss is illegal, but that wouldn't stop these girls from trying. They're as daring as they are glamorous.

“Oh, hey, Bubbles. It’s like so…” Kim breaths, “great to see you!”

"Yeah, like I so didn't recognize you at first, but that's like ‘cuz you kinda blend into the walls."

“Kristen!” Kims says with a small smile, nudging her in the side.

“Wh…what?”

“Oh, don’t take it personally, Bubbles. She means that you’re the only girl on the team without a tan. No offense, but you’re kinda pale. Been spending too much time indoors?” Kitty says with a pitiful look on her face. “How are you feeling, boo-boo? Still sad?”

"Oh, well, I…I've been feeling better. Thanks for asking, you're actually one of the few that have—"

“That’s good. Now you can go back to being you’re regular cute self! The girls really missed you.”

“Yeah… I really missed everyone too. When did you all get back? I haven’t heard from anyone.”

“It’s only been, like, what? A week? Right, girls.”

Kim and Kristen nod their heads. They look bored. Like they'd rather be anywhere else. Kristen is actually on her phone, taking selfies. 

“A week? Why didn’t anyone call me?”

The girls look at each other like they're debating telling her some secret she isn't aware of. "I'm sure they just didn't want to bother you. I personally don't know what it's like to lose a loved one, but I'm sure it's not easy. We're just giving you time." Kitty says, her yellow eyes glowing under the harsh lights.

The pitiful look returns to Kitty's face. She looks almost like a conceded older sister, except Bubbles has one of those and she can tell Kitty isn't sincere. She notices Kristen and Kim fidget behind Kitty, both of them on their phones. Maybe they're just uncomfortable. None of them have any idea about what she's gone through. She must be someone very hard to talk to; what do you say to the grieving girl without setting her off or insulting her?

“That makes sense.” Bubbles sighs. “So, what are you guys doing here?”

"Shopping, duh," Kristen says. Kim elbowing her side again.

"Oh cool! Me too! Can I join?"

"Actually, boo-boo, we were just finishing up. We have a movie to catch."

“Really? Is it scary?”

“No. It’s the new Jennifer Lawrence movie. I swear she is like a goddess, totally my fav role model.” Kitty winks, “I’d invite you to come, but tickets sold out. We had to buy ours last night. Kitty begins to walk away, Kristen and Kim following after her. “Sorry, boo-boo. Maybe next time?”

“Ok, may—”

Kitty doesn't give Bubbles enough time to finish. Already turning away and strutting out the mall. People moving out of their way as they walk. 

“Maybe next time.”

Bubbles walks, following the flow of the crowd. She spots an empty bench, and when she's close enough, she drops down letting her whole body sag. This day did not turn out like she wanted. Not even the mall was enough to cheer her up if anything it made her day worse.

She watches people pass and go. It's too crowded, the mall, but that's not the problem. Bubbles turns to look at the empty seat beside her. No, too many people aren't the problem. There could be double the number of people, and she'd still feel the same, lonely. 

“Is this seat taken?”

Bubbles looks up, startled. A short blond girl stands in front of her. She’s wearing a black and white striped shirt with a name tag that reads Julie.

Bubbles shakes her head, “Go ahead.”

“Thanks. Been working all day. I just need a break, you know?”

“Yeah.”

“Where do you work?” She asks, busy fixing her ponytail.

"Oh, um, I don't work. I don't have a job, at least not anymore."

"Yeah? bummer. Did the pet store fire you?”

"Yup, they—wait. What? How did…do I know you?"

"I'm not surprised you don't remember me. I'm Julie, Julie Smith. We met last year in science. We got paired together once when both our science partners were out sick. You looked like you were gonna hurl when we got to the frog dissection."

"Oh! Yeah! Ugh, no offense I sort pushed that memory way back."

"I figured, but that's not where I know you from."

Bubbles looks at the girl sitting beside her. She's nice-looking, but nothing about her features stands out to her. 

“I’m your next-door neighbor, from across the street.”

"Oh?" Bubbles pauses, thinking of something to say. She's lived on Maple Lane all her life, and she's never noticed. How do you go sixteen years and never notice the girl living across the street? "Yeaaah…Julie. Right…it's good to see you again."

"Ok, you don't have to pretend. I'm not at all surprised that you don't recognize me. I mean we don't exactly hang in the same social circles."

Bubbles tugs on her pigtail, embarrassed. “I’m normally better about remembering faces, sorry. We…we haven’t talked before, have we?”

“Besides that day in science, no, not really. You were always busy with your cheerleading friends.”

“Right…cheerleading friends.” Bubbles mumbles.

“Hey, what’s wrong? I didn’t mean anything by it.”

"Oh, it's not you…it's." Bubbles takes a breath, "…it's nothing." She finishes in a lighter tone. "Nothing."

Julie gives her look, "Riiighhhtt." She stresses. "Well, I don't believe you." Julie sits back, making herself comfortable."What? Did your boyfriend cheat on you with someone from the cheer squad or something?"

“What? No!” She pauses, her eyes growing large, “Why? Have you heard something.”

“Whoa. I was just kidding.” Julie says, holding up her hands.

“Oh,” Bubbles giggles, “Duh. I don’t even _have_ a boyfriend.” 

Julie laughs too, and the air around them turns friendly and familiar. It's been too long since Bubbles has had someone to talk too, someone her age.

“So, honestly, what’s bugging you?”

Bubbles stops her giggling, “What do you mean?”

Julie sighs, “Ok, to be honest, I sort of saw you from far away, and you were looking pretty bummed. I mean, I know we don’t really know each other, but that’s just not the Bubbles I remember.”

Bubbles looks at her confused and conflicted. Most people assume she’s feeling sad because, well, her father died, which is technically the source of her woes if she really thinks about it. But Julie asks like she has no idea her father died, which is impossible. Everyone knows. Everyone at school at least. It's sort of nice. That she may or may not know, or that she doesn't care. Before… _everything_ , she used to be seen as Bubbles, just girly, preppy Bubbles, and now, people—her friends have a hard time seeing her outside of what happened to her. All they see is a tragedy.

"Umm…it's a dumb cheer thing, sort of, and other stuff too, I guess, but I don't want to bore you. Just forget it."

“Hmmm…I can see this calls for drastic measure.”

Before Bubbles can question what she means, Julie is pulling her up and dragging her away. Julie is a short girl, shorter than herself, but she can maneuver through a crowd like nobody’s business. In half the time that it would have taken her, Julie has them both across the mall. They enter a store, but Bubbles doesn’t have time to read the sign, so she has no idea where they are.

“So, what’re you getting?”

“What?” Bubbles asks, dazed. She looks around, and that's when she sees it. Ice cream! And judging by the gross amounts of sugary toppings, this can only be one place.

"Cold Stone?"

"Cold Stone." Julie echoes.

"Whoa, I love Cold Stone."

“Who doesn’t?”

“But I don’t…I didn’t bring any…”

“Totally cool. I just got my paycheck today, so it’s on me.”

“I can’t let you—”

"Already done," She sings, pulling out her wallet and walking to the register. "Two waffle cones please."

In the end, Bubbles is too weak to resist the power of sweet, sweet ice cream and lets Julie buy her a cone. She tires not to go overboard with the toppings; it's the least she can do.

“Is this great, or what?” Julie asks, taking a lick of her strawberry ice cream. “There is nothing ice cream can’t fix. Or chocolate, or cake, or pie—you get the idea.”

Bubbles giggles, taking a lick of her own birthday cake favored ice cream. “I like the way you think.”

The girls tap their cones together in celebration.

“Ready to talk about what’s bugging you?”

Bubbles stops, mid-lick. What's bugging her? Well, there's really a lot of ways she can answer that. One, her sisters aren't speaking to one another. Two, one of her sisters is working themselves ragged and the other she's pretty sure is depressed. Three, her pseudo-grandparents no longer want her. Four, she can't get a job. Five, she made a fool of herself in front of a cute guy. Six, she thinks her friends are ignoring her, and she feels like it's her fault. Seven, she’s still sad about most things, but mostly about her dad. Eight, she’s pretty sure she’s close to crying, which would lead to, nine, scaring off a potential new friend. All these things pass in quick succession in her head, but the only thing she can blurt out is.

"Do you think I'm pale?" Her voice breaks at the end, and she can feel a few stray tears break free.

Julie looks at her, stunned and probably a little freaked out. She's crying in the middle of an ice cream shop because she thinks she's too pale. If that doesn't scream crazy, she's not sure what does. Bubbles sniffs and more tears break free. She looks down, trying to control herself. She’s pretty sure she’s just scared off a completely nice and normal girl.

“Here.”

Bubbles looks up at the sound of Julie’s voice. Her hand is stretched out holding a napkin. Bubbles takes the napkin and nods her head in thanks.

“Sorry.” She mumbles.

"No need. We all have sucky days. This…um…is this about your dad? I don't want to assume or anything, but…I mean you're not pale if that's really what's bugging you. Fair-skinned yeah, but it suits you."

Bubbles lets out a weak chuckle, “It’s not about my dad or my paleness, but thanks.”

Julie nods, clearly feeling as awkward as she looks. “Ok, so then….”

Bubbles sighs, a deep sorrowful sigh. "It's a lot of different things. I don't know. I guess you're right. I'm just having a really sucky day. I mean, earlier today I knocked over an old lady and totally embarrassed my self in front of a cute guy, not to mention my new boss."

“I thought you said you didn’t have a job?”

“I don’t…anymore. I was hired and fired all in the span of 30 seconds.”

Julie snorts. She puts a hand to her mouth, trying to stifle her laughter and spare the sad girl a hard time.

“It’s okay, you can laugh.”

Julie does, letting out a deep belly laugh. Her laughter is contagious, and Bubbles finds herself joining in, her problems forgotten for the moment.

“No offense, but that’s got to be a world record!”

“I know! I thought the same thing!”

The laughter dies down enough to give the girls space to breath, but large grins remain on their faces.

“So are you looking for work? Or have you suffered enough embarrassment?”

“For today, yes. But, I’m still looking.”

Julie hums, “Look, don’t take this the wrong way, but why?”

Bubbles tilts her head in confusion, “…Money?”

“But you’re a cheerleader.”

“I don’t get paid to be a cheerleader.”

“Duh. I know that! But you guys have practice like every day, plus football games, away games, and competitions, I’m sure. When are you going to have time for a job?”

"Oh," Bubbles says, taken a back. “I hadn’t thought about that.”

“I mean if you started looking at the beginning of summer, I would understand, but we go back to school on Monday. Kinda late, don’t you think?” Julie says, taking a lick of her ice cream.

“I guess.” Bubbles slumps down in her seat, “I really wanted a job, though.”

Julie shrugs her shoulder, "You could get one if you quit cheer." 

“I can’t quit cheer!”

“Why?”

“Because…” _Kitty_ , she thinks. “Because.”

Julie hums. She’s about to say something when a ping from her phone interrupters her. She looks down, at some message she’s received. The text is clearly not a good one as her brows lower into a frown. She shoots back a reply before pocketing her phone and collecting her things.

“Sorry, Bubbles. Family emergency. I have to run.” Julie says standing up.

“Oh. Is everything alright? Can I do anything?”

Julie waves her off, “Don’t worry about it. But, hey, if you ever decided to ditch your pom-pom friends, call me. I might be able to get you a job where I work.”

“Really? That would be great!” Bubbles jumps up and hugs Julie, being carful to avoid dropping their cones. One embarrassment is enough for today. “Oh! I don’t have your number. Here.” Bubbles hands her phone over. Julie pauses for a split second, looking at her phone like it’s a bad idea. Bubbles panics, thinking maybe she read the situation wrong. Maybe this was a pity cone and not like alets-be-friends cone. Maybe she just really felt sorry for her. Gosh, that would be horrible. Julie shakes her head, getting rid of whatever she was thinking, and enters her number before handing the phone back with a smile.

"Cool. Hopefully, we'll run into each other on Monday."

“Yeah! See you then! I’ll be looking for you.”

Julie smiles, “Bye, Bubbles.”

“Bye!”

Julie leaves, leaving Bubbles alone in the ice cream shop. She may be sitting alone, but this is the least lonely she’s felt in months. She enjoys the rest of her ice cream cone in silence, a giant smile plastered on her face.

_Looks like my day did turn out alright._

* * *

 

After her ice cream, Bubbles decides to leave the mall. Robin said it'd be a great place to cheer up, and that might not have been true at first, but now, feeling tons better, Bubbles thinks the mall has done its job. Feeling happy and carefree, Bubbles decides to walk home. Her house is more than an hour away, but Kitty was right, she hasn't gone out much this summer. She's lost color and problem some tone. Walking will do her good, help her built up some muscle and endurance. She's definitely going to need that for her first cheer practice on Tuesday. Uggh, Bubbles would be lying if she said she wasn't dreading practice. It's been four months since she's picked up a pom-pom. OMG! What if she's gained weight? She hasn't even tried on her uniform. What if it doesn't fit! 

_Relax, you’re exaggerating._ She thinks in her most calming voice that sounds suspiciously like Blossom.Bubbles pushes away her negative thoughts, instead focusing on the positive. Like the ice cream, like maybe having a job, like definitely have a new friend. She shouldn't be so giddy. She's sixteen, not five, sixteen-year-olds don't freak out about making new friends. The thought doesn't stop her hands from making little fist pumps, nor does it stop the skip in her step. As she walks, she basks in the warmth of the sun. Letting it soak her and exhilarate her.She's so happy she can skip all the way home, but she won't because she's not a little girl. She settles on humming instead.

It occurs to her that Julie lives right across the street from her. She could have gone home with her. Missed opportunity, but perhaps for the best. She doesn’t want to come on too strong; she's been told she can be _too_ happy.

She makes sure to walk on the most populated streets. There's still a lot of light out, but it's late in the afternoon, the sun will begin to set soon and well, she still hasn't forgotten what happened to Blossom. She's preppy, not dumb.

She makes it home just as the sun is beginning to set. She’s hungry, and she really hopes Blossom brought food. She opens the front door with a greeting. “Hello! I’m home!” 

Silence greets her. Guess, Blossom isn’t home yet, and who knows about Buttercup. She walks to the kitchen with the intention to get a quick snack to tide her over until Blossom gets home. But when she enters the kitchen, she freezes shocked by what she sees. The food she left out for Buttercup, it’s still there. Cold and ruined. The little note still attached to her glass of warm OJ.

Bubbles runs upstairs, worried that her sister hasn’t gotten up all day. Not even to eat. What if she’s not breathing? What if she was actually passed-out? She should have checked her pulse! She should have checked that she was still breathing! Gosh, what if Buttercup is actually depressed! Bubbles barges into her sister's room, the hesitancy of this morning gone. She hurries over to Buttercup's bed and finds—nothing. Nothing but a pile of messy clothes thrown around and an unmade bed.

“Buttercup!” She yells out. Bubbles checks the bathroom, Blossom’s room, she peers outside to the backyard. Nothing. No sign of her sister. No sign that she’s been at home all day besides an unmade bed. Light from the setting sun stings her eyes, breaking through the darkness of the second floor. Bubbles walks downstairs, slowly. Each step punctuated by a new feeling.

Worry.

Confusion.

Hurt.

Anger.

Sadness.

She makes it to the bottom step feeling drained. She walks over to the kitchen table and picks up the note she wrote.

_Eggs and Bakey make you BIG and Wakey! Enjoy your breakfast! Love, Bubbles! <3_

Buttercup didn't even bother to read it. She looks at the food left behind and then turns her gaze towards the refrigerator, thinking of the breakfast Blossom didn't get a chance to eat. She falls onto the dinning chair, still clutching the note in her hand. The remaining light fades as the sun finishes setting. The whole house bathed in darkness. Bubbles is afraid of the dark, but she doesn’t feel fear. No.

She feels alone.

_Lonely._

 

 

 

 

 

 


	4. Chapter 4

Stealing cars was easy. He learned to steal cars before he could recite the alphabet. It was practically second nature. Giving it back; however, was never part of the process. It sort of defeated the purpose. But here he was, giving back his number one prize and all because the boss man said so. Such a waste of a fine car too. Fuck, did that irritate him, but that’s cool, ‘cuz while he wasn’t the smartest of men, he was patient, and if he played his cards right, one day he’d be giving the orders.

He just had to wait for that old man to die.

“Sorry about the noise, mostly sorry for you. You caught us at a really bad time. Sneaking something out is usually easier than sneaking something in, but I ain’t suppose to leave no evidence behind so this is what we’re gonna to do.” He picks up the photo frame on the desk, the gun in his other hand still pointed at the terrified man shaking in his seat.

“You got a real nice family; it be a shame if something happened to them. And you do realize that ain’t an empty threat, right? I will kill them.” The man whimpers.

“Alright, good to see we’re on the same page. Now listen, ‘cuz the next part is real important. You’ll be getting a visitor soon, and trust me, he’ll be one scary dude, but don’t let that phase you. He’s a punk ass bitch. Just give him what he asks for and don’t say nothing about this here mess, got it?” The man whimpers again and shakes his head. “Good. If you do that, then there’s no reason for your lovely family to be getting a visit from me.”

The gunman lowers his gun, “We’ll be leaving now. You better not call the cops or, well, you know what will happen” he says waving the frame in his hands. He drops it on the floor and steps on it, smashing the glass with his boot. “Have a nice night.” He says before leaving. He whistles to the rest of his crew, “Alright, boys. Let’s bounce. Dawn is approaching, can’t have anyone spot us.”

They move out quickly, hoping to escape while it’s still dark out.

The gunman’s phone rings. “Boss.”

“Did you put it back?”

“All taken care of.”

“No signs of you know who?”

“None, sir. Not that I’d expect him to show his lousy face.”

“Careful, don’t underestimate him. He’s not smart, but he’s crazy enough to take you and your boys down."

“I’m touched.”

“I don’t want any mishaps. If all goes well, he’ll be leaving in chains once more.”

“Got it. We’re on our way back as we speak.”The boss hangs up, and the gunman disappears into the cover of night just as the first rays of light begin to emerge.

* * *

 

“Girls! Hurry up! We’re leaving in…” Blossom checks her watch, “Now!”

Bubbles hurries downstairs fixing one of her pigtails. “How do I look?” She asks, taking a spin to show off her outfit. It’s cute, frilly, and blue—classic Bubbles.

“You look great, Bubbles.” Blossom comments, honestly. Her baby sister is the prettiest girl in Townsville. Petite, slim, and angelic-looking—not to mention fashionable. With looks like her’s you’d think Bubbles would be more vain or self-absorbed, but she’s sweet as a peach. Thank goodness for that. One less thing for Blossom to worry about.

“You think? I wore this at last year’s spring festival. You don’t think anyone will notice?”

“Bubbles, _I_ don’t even remember you wearing that. I’m sure you’ll be fine.”

“I guess,” she mumbles, twirling a lock of blond hair.

Bubbles continues to fuss over her outfit while Blossom anxiously awaits for her other equally beautiful, but much less sweet sister.

“Bubbles, where’s Buttercup? Was she in the bathroom when you came down?”

Bubbles stops tugging on her outfit, “Um, actually, I don’t think she’s up yet.”

Blossom groans, “Of all the days,” she mumbles. “Here hold this.” She hands her bag to Bubbles and hurries upstairs. The keep out sign does nothing to slow her down as she throws open the door. The noise is enough to cause a stir in the mess that Buttercup calls a bed, but it’s not enough to actually awaken her. Blossom lets out an irritated sigh and walks over to Buttercup’s night stand, turning on her clock radio and setting it as loud as possible.

“This is 96.6 WKPIG telling you to GET UP! And ROCK ON! It’s another _scalding_ day, and in even worst news for you unfortunate kids under 18, sucks for you, but today is officially back-to-school! Try not falling asleep during homeroom, kiddos! Haha!”

“AGHH!” A frazzled Buttercups springs out of bed, her hand desperately trying to find the off button on her noisy alarm clock. She manages to shut it off just as Blossom pulls back her curtains. Strong sunlight enters the room frying Buttercup’s still sleepy eyes.

“Ughh! What the fuck is your problem?”

Blossom ignores her sister’s foul use of language, choosing to focus on the more pressing issue.“Get up. You’re late for school.”

Buttercup rolls her eyes and lays back down. “I’m not going to school. So, if you could just shut the door on your way out, that be great.” She pulls the covers over her head, concealing herself from the harsh light.

“Oh no, we don’t have time for this. You are going to school, no if's, and's, or but's about it. Now, GET UP!” Blossom tugs on the covers, but Buttercup has a strong hold and buries deeper into herself. Blossom lets go with a huff. Trying to pry the covers off her sister isn’t going to work, Buttercup is stronger and more stubborn than she is, but that’s okay. Blossom knows that the best solution to any situation isn’t to work harder, but to work smarter. She grabs a pillow off the floor and places it on top of Buttercup. She puts as much of her body weight as she can on top of her sister and waits.

Her sister stills for a second and then starts bucking like crazy before pushing her off. “Are you crazy!” She yells, taking a deep breath of air. “You could have killed me!”

“Don’t exaggerate. I wouldn’t have taken it that far. Now get dressed, we leave in five.”

“I told you. I’m not going.” She huffs, crossing her arms.

“Buttercup, you have been locked in this room for the past week. Now, whatever _this_ …” she says gesturing to the room and her sister, “is, it ends now. This isn’t a negotiation. You are going to school, and that’s final!”

“But—”

“I don’t want to hear any complaints, Buttercup. We’re late enough as it is. School, five minutes.”

Buttercup frowns at her sister, her glare hot enough to melt ice. Blossom stands her ground. She truly has no idea what has gotten into her sister, but she’s not going to let Buttercup screw up her life by ditching school. After a few tense seconds, Buttercup’s lip begins to twitch and finally, she caves. “FINE! You can get out now!”

Blossom nods, letting out a small breath of relief as she walks out of Buttercup’s room “We’ll be downstairs waiting for you. Remember,—” Her sister slams the door in her face. “We leave in five minutes!” Blossom yells through the door, unsurprised by her sister’s reaction. She walks back downstairs, smoothing down her hair.

“Is she coming?” Bubbles asks nervously handing back her book bag.

Blossom nods. “She is…she better be.”

Five tense and quiet minutes later Buttercup makes her way downstairs; pouting the whole way down. She doesn’t spare a glance at her sisters, nor offers them a greeting. Just walks right past them and out the door. Blossom rolls her eyes. Buttercup can’t make anything easy.

The sisters walk to school. Sara was supposed to stop by and give them a ride, but Blossom already knew that wasn't going to happen before the day even began, which is why Blossom planned on leaving earlier, so that they’d get to school on time. That plan too fell through with Buttercup being so reluctant to go.

On the bright side, Buttercup did decide to join them. Dealing with her escalating bad moods is getting increasingly challenging. There is going to come a day where Buttercup will stop listening to her older sister altogether. Blossom doesn’t know what she’s going to do when that day comes.

Worried that they won’t make it to school on time, Blossom tries setting a fast pace for her sisters. Bubbles quickly picks up on the change of pace, but Buttercup purposely lags behind. Pout still on her face. Blossom glances at her wristwatch. If they continue at this pace, they won’t have time to pick up their schedules, and they’ll definitely be late for homeroom! That’s an automatic detention, and Blossom has never in her life been late or in detention. Blossom’s panicked thoughts are temporally interrupted when a car horn gets all their attentions. They turn around to see a red car drive up. Upon further inspection, Blossom realizes the car belongs to Sara. 

“Girls!” Their aunt yells out, “Get in!”

Her sisters look back at her, the question written clearly on their faces. _Do we get in?_ Pushing her frustrations aside for the sake of her perfect attendance, Blossom reluctantly nods her head. Her sisters get in the backseat, leaving the front seat for her.

“Sorry I was late. I was up most of the night working, and I must have slept in by accident. I rushed over as fast as I could, but you guys were already gone.”

“We couldn’t wait any longer. We were going to be late.” Blossom responds rather coldly.

“Sorry. I’ll get you there as quickly as the law permits, and I promise this will never happen again.” Her aunt promises, sounding remorseful. Buttercup snorts, clearly not believing their aunt’s promise. Blossom isn’t happy with her lack of manners, but she can’t help but agree with her.

“We understand, Auntie. It’s okay. We’re not even late yet. We’ve still got like twenty minutes.” Bubbles adds cheerfully, breaking the tension in the car.

Sara nods thankfully at her. “Still, I really am sorry. It doesn’t set a good precedence for the rest of the year when you’re late on the first day.”

Blossom hums in agreement intending that to be the end of the conversation, but she can feel Sara’s gaze on her. She puts up with it for a few awkward seconds before giving in and reluctantly saying, “It’s alright. You’re here now.” She doesn’t turn to look at her, but she can feel her aunt’s smile from where she sits.

_Keep the peace. Keep them happy._ Blossom thinks to herself.

Almost ten minutes later they reach the school. Blossom barely manages to utter a bye to her aunt, before she’s hurrying her sisters to the main office. The school is crowded, which makes it that much more difficult to reach her intended destination, and with only ten minutes left before homeroom, it’s safe to say that Blossom is a little panicked. Luckily, they don’t have to make it very far when suddenly their schedules are thrust in their faces.

“I noticed you guys hadn’t picked these up yet. Am I awesome or what? _What_ may be substituted with cool, pretty, the best, or any other compliment of your choosing.”

“Robin!” Blossom and her sisters yell in unison. Bubbles throws herself at Robin in a bear hug, while Buttercup pounds her fist from behind. Blossom eagerly grabs hold of the schedules. “Thank you. I was getting worried we wouldn’t reach the office in time.”

“I figured. Can’t have you worried, can we.” Robin winks at her. She gives Bubbles a big squeeze before the girls break the embrace. “Nice to see you too, honey. Still sweet?”

“The sweetest.” Bubbles giggles.

Buttercup groans, “Ugh, when are you guys gonna stop doing that. If these exchanges get any sweeter, I’m going to have to start taking insulin.”

“Oh, like, you didn’t miss me, either?”

“Well…a little, maybe.”

“Good, you better miss we. We’ve got homeroom together.”

“Oh yeah? Let me see.” Buttercup takes her schedule from Blossom’s hand, Bubbles doing the same. “Ugh, math? First thing in the morning? That blows!”

“Right?” Robin agrees, equally annoyed.

“You’re lucky. I have AP World History—with Mr. Sandman.”

“Whoa. Okay, you win. That’s rough.” Robin says. Buttercup nodding her head in agreement. Nobody puts students to sleep like Mr. Sandman. Blossom is going to have to study twice as hard if she wants to maintain her GPA.

“Oh no, I have chemistry.” Bubbles laments, presumably upset about not having one of her sisters or Robin in her class. Bubbles has never been good with being alone. On the one hand, it explains why she’s so friendly, excited to make a friend wherever she is, on the other, it can maker a bit too—overzealous. 

“I’m sure someone from the cheer squad will have that class and keep you company,” Blossom says, trying to calm her baby sister.

“I guess.” As soon as Bubbles says that, a dark-skinned girl in a white cheer uniform passes by, catching Bubbles' attention. “Ciara?” Bubbles calls out, stopping the girl in her tracks. “Why are you wearing your uniform?”

“What? Bubbles? What are you doing here? You’re late. I’m late. Come on!” Before she can explain herself any further, Ciara grabs Bubbles and drags her away.

“Um, you’re sister just got cheer-napped. Shouldn’t we be worried?”

Buttercup shrugs, “Happens all the time. If no one has seen her by the end of the day, then we’ll send out an APB.”

Robin nods her head, “K. So like, do you guys mind filling me in? I was gone all summer. What I miss? How you guys been?”

Blossom and Buttercup share a look. Not a look of camaraderie or insecurity. More a look of contempt and understanding. They mentally agree not share the more intimate details of their home life with Robin. Robin is a great friend of all three of them; it wouldn’t put her in a good position if they told her they weren’t getting along—which is putting it lightly—at the moment. It might make Robin feel like she has to choose sides.

There's also that unspoken discussion about how they're actually doing with their father's passing. They haven't spoken about it, but it's not like either one of them is fine, not if Buttercup's reckless behavior or her own anxiety are any indications. Still, this is all something Robin doesn't need to concern herself with. 

“Nothing too eventful.” Blossom answers, “Just everything we told you in our texts. But what about you? You must have stories.”

“Uhh-huh, nope. That’s not going to work on me.” Robin says crossing her arms.

Blossom frowns, “What do you mean?”

“In case you have forgotten I have an older cousin who too works in city hall. As a receptionist.”

“What does that have to do with—“

“Blossom, I heard about the attack.”

“Oh…um,”

“Blossom, sweetie, why didn’t you say anything? I mean that totally qualifies as news.” Robin uncrosses her arms and grabs her shoulders, sympathy written all over her face. “You must have been so scared. Are you alright?”

The familiar twinge of annoyance runs through her. It’s not that she’s annoyed with Robin, just with that question altogether. She should have told Robin, but it was just more bad news, and she didn’t want to ruin her family vacation. Besides annoyance, she begins to feel the familiar touch of nervous energy run through her. Just thinking of that night gives her the shakes. It’s even worse because she hasn’t heard anything back from the police. Her aunt assures her that no news is good news, except no news also mean they haven’t caught the perpetrators yet. The thought that they’re out and about, roaming free to do as they please is so…unsettling.

_Cool. Calm. Collected._

“It was…frightening, to say the least. But luckily, everything turned out all right. I mean for me, I wasn’t actually the one being attacked.”

“It was a man, right? Jack something?”

“Yeah,” Blossom says, surprised with how much Robin knew of the incident. “He’s going to fine, I heard, but he was still hurt pretty badly.”

“Wow, imagine if you hadn’t been there? That guy would have been dead, right?”

“Oh, I don’t know about that. I like to think the police would have found him in time.”

Robin smacks Buttercups shoulder, who stands unusually quiet, “Can you believe this? Your sister is a hero.”

Buttercup nods absentmindedly, “Yeah. Lucky that you were there that night.”

“Hey, BC, you okay?” Robin asks, shifting her worry from her to her younger sister.

Buttercup shrugs, “Yeah? I mean have you forgotten that today is the first day of school? And that we have math first thing in the morning? You mean to tell you aren’t at all bummed.”

Robin hums, “I see what you mean, but compared to my boring vacation, school is a welcomed change of pace.”

“How could your vacation be boring? You went on a cross-country road trip.” Blossom asks in disbelief.

“Hours on end spent in a car cramped with four other people? Yeah, no, you’re right that was so much fun.” Robin retorts sarcastically.

“Come on; you’re totally downplaying it. We were stuck in Townsville all summer. Anything had to be better than that.” Buttercup says.

“Well, we did see the grand canyon. It was a canyon, and it was grand. It was also really cool for like a minute. The rest of the hour my parents forced me to be there was complete overkill. The rest of the trip was exactly like that, so if you’re looking for a good bedtime story to fall asleep too, I’m your girl.”

“Thanks, but I think I’ll pass. I do have Mr. Sandman first thing in the morning. As it is, I’m sure I’ll be doubling my caffeine intake.”

“Oh? Back on the black stiffs are we?”

“Dude. Do you even realize what that sounded like?” Buttercup questions with laughter.

“Ugh, I know. I realized as I was saying it. I was trying to be witty by the way. Okay, let us ignore that and not start the year pervy.”

“I second that,” Blossom says. She checks her watch. It’s five minutes before the first bell and ten minutes before the final bell. That’s still plenty of time for most students, but Blossom is already feeling nervous, and the thought of being late is not helping. “I’m going to start heading to class. I’ll see you at lunch, and you can tell me more about your _boring_ trip.”

“Will do boss.” Robin solutes her goodbye.

“So…you still hanging out with Mitch?” Is the last thing Blossom hears Robin say before she walks away.

Blossom almost pauses to hear more of what Buttercup has to say. She knows that Mitch is who Buttercup has been spending her summer with, but that’s all she knows. Is it bad that she doesn’t know more? She should know more. Right? Buttercup is her sister. The curiosity of wanting to know more, for the sake of trying to figure out Buttercup and her strange behavior, is strangely not there. Blossom doesn’t have time to ponder whether that is a good thing or bad, as her palms start sweating, reminding her she better get to class before even the possibility of being late presents itself.

_Cool. Calm. Collected._

* * *

 

"Ciara! Where are you taking me?" Bubbles yells out, being careful to avoid bumping into anyone.

“Girl, what are you talking about? The meeting, hello! And why are you not in uniform?”

“Um…because uniforms are only worn during prep rallies, football games, and competitions. And I really don’t know where you’re taking me.”

Ciara suddenly pauses, causing Bubbles to bump into her back. She spins around, fast and dramatic as only a cheerleader knows how. "The passing of the baton meeting?"

Bubbles stares at her, blankly.

"Didn't anyone tell you? Mandy is here; she's passing _the baton_.”

It takes Bubbles a second, but then she realizes what Ciara is referring to, “Mandy is picking the new captain? Today! What? No one told me anything!”

"Oh, Boo-boo, that really sucks, and I have no idea how you didn't get the memo, but you need to get your cute butt in gear because we are so late!"

Ciara grabs hold of Bubbles again and drags her through the massive hoards of students. Soon they’ve reached the football field. On the grass, Bubbles can see the whole team has gathered. They’re all wearing their uniforms. The only one not in uniform, beside herself, is Mandy, the brunette beauty standing in the center of the group. She's tall, curvaceous, and beautiful. She's also been captain of the Townsville Titian Cheer Squad for the last two years. She just graduated, which means it's time for her to pass the baton and pick the new captain. This is her first passing of the baton ceremony. She's always been excited to attend one. A part of her hopeful that the baton would get passed to her. Since no one bothered telling her, it’s obvious she’s not going to become captain. Makes sense, she’s never really been leadership material.

"Great. It looks like everyone is here." Mandy begins, "First things first, I just wanna say thank you for coming out this early. I have a psychology class this afternoon, and I wouldn't have been able to come after school. But anyway, on to the main event." Mandy bends down to retrieve something in her duffle bag. She pulls out an object covered with a white cloth. "It is time to the pass the baton. Everyone can you please join me in signing our school anthem."

_Tried and true_

_Me and you_

_Tried and true_

_Me and you_

_We come from far_

_We come from wide_

_We come to fight_

_We come to win_

_We pave the path_

_We are the mighty_

_We are the might_

_We are the might Titians_

_Gods among men_

_Warriors among meek_

_We are the proud_

_We are the strong_

_Titans!_

“Oh! That was special” Mandy sequels. “It was truly an honor to lead you girls. Titans forever!”

“Titans forever!” The girls echo back.

Mandy holds up the object in her hand and removes the cloth, revealing a sparkly, gold-painted baton. It's been in the Townsville cheer family for years, passed on from captain to captain. It's never used in performances; it just serves as a symbol. A symbol of dedication, discipline, cheer, and sisterhood. All her favorite things of being a cheerleader. “Drum roll please!” All the girls pat their legs creating a roaring drumroll, excitedly awaiting to hear the name of their next captain, well, all the girls except for—

“KITTY!” Mandy yells, “It is both an honor and a privilege to hand over this baton and officially name you the new Townsville Titian’s cheer captain!”

The drumroll stops and is replaced by applause. Kitty graciously accepts the baton, twirling it in the air and then blowing a kiss to the rest of the girls. It doesn't come as a shock, Kitty being captain. She's the best on the team, and she's assertive like a good leader should be. Bubbles is happy for her; she really is, she just can't help but feel this pit deep in her stomach, like maybe naming Kitty as captain wasn't such a good idea. Bubbles attributes the feeling to simple jealousy and ignores it, choosing instead to be happy for her friend.

"Thank you. Thank you. Mandy, you truly were a great captain, and I will work endlessly to uphold your reign and the values of this team—commitment, precision, and teamwork." Mandy gives Kitty one last hug before bidding goodbye to the rest of the girls. "Bye girls! Go for gold! TTCS!" 

“TTCS!” The team yells back.

"Ok. That was fun, but now let's get down to business." Kitty says seriously once Mandy is gone. "Our first practice is tomorrow, and I'm excepting everyone to show up in tip top shape ready to put in some seriously hard work. That shouldn't be too absurd of a request; we did just spend two months in cheer bootcamp—well, some of us did anyway.” Kitty’s yellow eyes lock on her accusingly.The rest of the girls turn to look at her, the same look in their eyes, and she suddenly feels naked without her uniform on.

"I will not have this team's winning streak end with me as captain, is that understood?" The girls nod their head lazily, some already over the hype of the morning meeting, some not fully awake yet. Kitty clears throat. "I don't think I made myself clear. Playtime is over. I will not lead a team of losers. Is that understood!" The girls, more awaken by Kitty’s shout, yell back “Yes!”

“Good.” She says, dainty as ever.

The first bell rings and the girls scatter, trying to reach class before the final bell or risk getting detention.Before leaving, Ciara gives her shoulder a squeeze, an apologetic look on her face. "Catch you at practice," she says before leaving. Bubbles simply waves. She's about to head to class when a voice stops her.

“Leaving without us?” Kitty asks, walking up to her.

"Oh, well, the bell rang, and my class is all the way on the west side of the building, so…"

“We know.” Kim says, “We saw your schedule in the office this morning. Chem, right?”

Bubbles nods her head, “You guys have that class? With Mr. Savino?”

The girls nod and start walking ahead. A clear order for Bubbles to follow behind. The girls walk at a lazy pace, which makes Bubbles nervous that they'll be late to class. The upside is, most people are quick to scurry out of the way for the triple Ks, so there are fewer people in their path. 

“Congratulations, by the way. You’ll make a really good captain, Kitty.” Bubbles says, a last ditch effort to push aside her uneasiness about the whole thing.

“Aren’t you sweet, Bubbles. Thank you. I think I’ll be a _great_ captain too.”

An awkward silence follows, interrupted by Kitty clearing her throat, “ _Ahem_.”

“OH! Yeah! For sure, you’ll be the best captain ever!” Kristen gushes.

"You'll be legendary," Kim adds more subdued, lazily running her fingers through her long dark hair.

Kim and Kristen stare back at her, eyebrows risen as to say ‘ _what are you waiting for.'_

"Uh…yeah, you'll be the prefect captain, Kitty." Kitty seems pleased with the praise and continues to walk with her head held high.

“So, like Bubbles, why aren’t you wearing your uniform?” Kirsten asks causing Kim to giggle under her breath.

"You know, Kristen, I was wondering the same thing. What happened?" Kitty asks, looking back at her. "Did it not fit?" She whispers. "You were pretty inactive this summer."

“No!” Bubbles says defensively, red coloring her cheeks. “I mean, yes it fits, but I…I didn’t know about the passing of the baton until just now. When I got to school.” 

“Hmmm…that doesn’t sound right. A text was sent to out everyone. You should have known about it.” Kitty says.

“Yeah, and it was posted on the Facebook group. No way you missed it.” Kim adds.

“Huh? Facebook group? What Facebook group?” Bubbles questions.

“You know. The one we made on the bus trip to cheer camp—oh! That’s why you didn’t know.” Kristen says. “You weren’t added to the group, ‘cuz like you weren’t there.”

“ _Tsk_. That’s unfortunate Bubbles.” Kitty says sympathetically. They’ve just reached the outside of their classroom when Kitty pauses and turns to give Bubbles her full attention. "We'll make sure to fix that later. We can't have you falling out of the loop. Embarrassments like today just can't repeat themselves."

“It wasn’t embarrassing—” Bubbles tries to argue.

"Of course it was," Kitty says cutting her off, Kim and Kristen nodding beside her. "Bubbles, as cheerleaders we present a united front, a united front you are not upholding by being out of uniform. When you roam the halls going from class to class today, no one will be able to identify you as a Titan cheerleader. I mean, you might as well be invisible.”

Bubbles opens her mouth to argue, but the final bell cuts her off. The triple Ks enter the classroom, leaving her outside with her mouth hanging open. Just as well, it’s not like she had anything to say. Kitty is right. If she’s not a cheerleader, she isn’t anything, just another girl in the crowd. Forgettable and invisible. Who wants to be that?

Biting her tongue, Bubbles enters the class. Luckily, Mr. Savino hasn't arrived yet, and there's no one to yell at her for being late. Blossom always makes a big deal of coming to school on time (on time meaning early for her), but the teachers are usually lenient of tardiness for the first period of the day. The first period is only 15 minutes of Homeroom. A time for attendance, morning announcements, and usually, a time to catch up on some sleep or some homework. Bubbles wants to use the time to catch up on anything she missed while the girls were away at cheer camp.

She’s tired of feeling left out.

The triple K’s have just found their seats, in the very back of the class near the door. Bubbles is about to follow when she notices that there aren’t any open seats anywhere near them. The seats are arranged in twos, each pair of seats belonging to a work lab. Kitty sits next to some boy with glasses she doesn’t know, while Kristen and Kim take up the last remaining work station.

Kitty locks eyes with her, her yellow cat-like eyes shimmering with glee. She moves her eyes to the side, motioning to the opposite end of the classroom. Bubbles follows her gaze and notices she is pointing out the only available seat in the class.

Bubbles is disappointed at first. The Ks are the only people she knows in the class, and now she won't even be able to sit with them, but then she takes notice of the person siting beside her empty seat and fear replaces her disappointment. She understands why Kitty looked so gleeful. 

“ _Ahem_. Miss, if you would please take your seat. I’d like to begin class soon.” Mr. Savino says, walking into class. Bubbles jumps up, startled by his sudden appearance. She mumbles an apology and quickly walks to her seat. She passes the Ks, who giggle as she walks by. She notices some other students staring as she takes her seat. She would have stared too if the situation were reversed. She approaches her seat cautiously and sits down as quietly as she can. She peaks out the corner of her eye to see if perhaps the boy sitting next to her has noticed her presence.

He hasn’t.

Boomer Mercer isn't aware of her or the stares in the room. Blissfully doodling away in his notebook. He's probably used to the unwanted attention. He _is_ a Mercer. As is Hannibal Isaiah Mercer’s son, as in HIM’s son! No one messes with a Mercer, not unless they want to deal with HIM. Bubbles doesn’t know too much about HIM, only that he isn’t a very nice man, at least he mustn’t be if everyone is always so scared to talk about him.

Boomer, on the other hand, they talk about him plenty. He's a trouble maker, a real bad boy. She’s heard all types of stories. They say he’s a thief and a thug, and that the only reason he hasn’t been arrested is because of his dad’s connections. According to people, he’s depraved, violent and crazy. She’s even heard that he’s been in a mental institution. Others says he’s a drug dealer or that at the very least he’s on drugs. Bubbles kinda of believes the latter more. She hasn't had many interactions with the blond boy beside her, but of the few times she has, he's always seemed _detached_. Like he's on some other planet and unaware of the world around him.

“Boomer Mercer.” Mr. Savino calls out.

Boomer looks up and shoots his arm in the air. Mr. Savino continues with the roll call, having seen the raised arm. Before Bubbles can blink, Boomer notices her starring and turns his hazy blue gaze on her. His gaze is direct and intrusive.

Intense.

Bubbles feels a shock run through her body. Frightened and embarrassed, Bubbles quickly turns away. When Mr. Savino calls her name, she can't muster more than a weak, " _Here._ ” She’s not sure if Boomer looks away as she tries her hardest not to look in his direction, but for the rest of the period, both the reminder of Homeroom and the Chemistry class that follows, she feels his intense stare on the side of her face.

The bell rings.

"Hold on!" Mr. Savino yells, "Don't forget one of my rules. I dismiss you, not the bell. One last thing before I forget. Wherever you sat today, is your permanent seat for the rest of the year, and the other person at your work bench will be your official lab partner."

_Oh no. Oh no. Oh no!_

“I wrote down everyone’s name already on my seat chart. So don’t think you can trick me. Alright, go on. You’re dismissed.”

Bubbles doesn’t spare a glance at her _lab partner_ or anyone else. She bolts out of the class, quick to avoid both Boomer and the teasing stares of the Ks. She reaches her next class out of breath and with a hot blush covering her face. Whether it's from rushing over here or from having to withstand Boomer's stare for an hour—she does not know. She spends the rest of math trying to put the mess of the morning behind her, but no matter how hard she tries she can't come to terms with the idea of having to see Boomer every day. His gaze told her everything she needed to know about him.

He’s dangerous.

She's dreading the next time she has to face him.

* * *

 

It's much sooner than she expected. She should've had 24 hours. Instead, she finds herself face-to-face with Boomer outside the class she's been excited for all day. Photography. It was the last class of the school day. She had signed up for the class before summer before her father passed. If she wasn't so freaked out about seeing Boomer standing right in front of her, she might have questioned why someone like Boomer would have bothered taking photography.

Probably an easy A.

They stand frozen outside the door. His hand on the doorknob.

"Uh…" Bubbles starts. Should she wait for him to open the door? No. She should just back away, but like not too noticeably because that would probably insult him. Bubbles takes a few tiny steps away from Boomer, hoping he doesn't notice.

He frowns, but says nothing. He opens the door and walks in. She waits for the door to close after him before going in, but the door never closes. She peeks inside the large studio-like classroom and sees him holding the door open for her. Bubbles quickly scurries in, mumbling “Thanks.” He nods and sits down in the back.Bubbles walks all the way to the front and tries her hardest not to let the blond boy bother her.

More people walk in. A lot more people. Bubbles didn't expect photography to be such a popular class. There is easily more than 30 students in the room. She overhears a pair of friends talking.

"I thought you said ceramics was lame?"

“My exact words were overrated. Besides, what are you even talking about? I’m here for art.”

“What? But this is ceramics.”

“Excuse me,” Bubbles interrupts, “But isn’t this photography?”

"What?" Both strangers turn to look at her. They look back at each other confused, and then all hell breaks loose. The room grows louder and louder with other students questioning whether they're in the right class. Bubbles looks around, tugging on her pigtail nervously. She doesn't know anyone in the room. No Blossom. No Buttercup. No Robin. No cheerleaders. No one to ask for help. Her eyes land on a solitary figure in the back. Hoody up, arms crossed, deep-blue eyes staring right at her. Bubbles tugs harder on her hair and looks away, triple-checking her schedule to make sure she's in the right class.

"QUITE DOWN! QUITE DOWN!" A middle-aged man yells out. "And before you all ask, YES! You are in the right class! If you would all settle down, I'd love to explain the confusion." The class quiets down to a few murmurs before going completely quiet.

"Great, thank you. Okay, first, let me introduce myself. I am Mr. Kellman, and I will be teaching Arts. Before you all get up, let me assure you that you are indeed in the right class. If you signed up for ceramics, painting, photography, or any other form of creative art class, then you are in the right class. Due to budget cuts, the school's art program has been severely downgraded. So all the previous mentioned creative art classes are being condensed into this one class. Simply called Arts. I know this may be a disappointment to some—if not all of you, and trust me I'm pretty disappointed as well. Good news is that because of the depth of subject matter we will be covering, this class will be two semesters long. You are, however, free to opt out of either semester. That also means we might be getting some new faces in here. The school board is being pretty lenient about enrollment and subject-matter considering the circumstances. They don't want a—how did they put it? Oh, right—an _upset_ on their hands.” The teacher finishes his explanation with a defeated shrug. 

A student raises their hand, “Um, sorry. Mr. Kellman?”

“Yes?”

“So, um, what are we going to be doing?”

The teacher pauses for a second, looking around the room. "Honestly, I'm a new hire, and I was just made aware of the situation this morning. I have to take inventory of the materials we have and will be made available to us. So, short answer, I don't know. The school board wants me to go over as much as possible to cover the art classes that were terminated, but I'm not sure what will be possible. What I do know is that the first week or two we'll be going over important art concepts that we should all know before proceeding with any major projects. Shapes, lines, colors, art styles, techniques—that sort of thing. That should give me enough time to create a proper syllabus. But," He says clapping his hands, "for today. I'd like to start off by getting to know all of you."

The whole class groans.

“Okay guys, icebreakers aren’t that bad. If I’m going to be teaching this class for the next year, I’d like to get to know some of you guys better. Here, I’ll start. I’m Mr. Kellman. You guys can call Mr. K, Kell, or _the Man_ as some of my other students have taken to calling me. I'm also a professor at TU. I teach art history and live figure drawing— before you ask, no, you cannot sit-in on a class."

Some students laugh.

"I won't be here at school until ten minutes before the start of class. But I will stay an extra hour after school if anyone wants to talk to me or needs help with a project. Right, so enough about me. How about I let you guys do some of the talking. When it's your turn, I want you to say your name, the class you initially signed up for and why. ‘Because it seemed like fun' is not an acceptable response by the way."

More groans follow.

“ _But_ , if that is really your reason, then you can instead tell me something interesting about you. Alright, let's start with…you. Can you stand up, please."

"Me?" Bubbles squeaks out, embarrassed with how high-pitched her voice sounded. She shouldn't have sat in the front. She avoided one problem and caused another. Bubbles gets up slowly, feeling uncharacteristically shy. As a cheerleader she's used to performing in front of crowds. But she's not performing now, and she's not in uniform either. She feels exposed. She's not Bubbles. She's just some girl or worse, if they recognize her, she's the orphan girl. She stands up and unconsciously beginning to play with a strand of hair.

“Hi. My name is Bubbles. Um, I signed up for photography.”

_“Probably to learn how to take better selfies.”_ Someone whispers causing a few chuckles.

Embarrassed and hurt, Bubbles looks down. Trying to borrow into herself. It's not the first time she's heard comments like that. She's blond and cheerful, but that just means other people see her as ditsy.

“Enough! Those types of comments won’t be tolerated. Bubbles, I’m sorry. Continue. Why did you sign up for photography?”

Bubbles still looking down shrugs her shoulders.

"Oh, I don't believe that. There must be a reason." Mr. Kellman says, trying to encourage her to talk.

Bubbles thinks of her little blue Polaroid camera sitting at home, gathering dust. She thinks about how different, brighter, the world looks through the lens of the camera. The way moments like a hummingbird flapping its wings or the rare smile on Buttercup's face can be captured forever. She thinks of her father. How happy he looked when she shared the snapshots of everything he couldn't be present for.

Bubbles shrugs again, “I don’t know. It seemed fun?” Mr. Kellman looks at her like Blossom does when she knows she’s lying.

“Alright.” He says, sounding unconvinced. “Then tell me something interesting about you.”

“Umm…I’m a triplet?” She would have said cheerleader, but she felt that would’ve received a similar comment to what was said earlier about her. The people in class already think she’s some dumb blond airhead. No need to fuel that line of thought.

"Oh? So there are two identical versions of you walking around?"

“No. We’re fraternal triplets.” She smiles.

Mr. Kellman nods, “Well, that is interesting. Thank you, Bubbles. You can sit down.”

The person besides her stands up and introduces themselves. The next hour is filled with introductions; Bubbles stops trying to memorize everyone's name after the tenth person. She's sure she'll get to know a couple of them further along in the year, at least, she hopes she'll make friends. Finally, they reach the last person, and the room becomes tensely quite.

The person before Boomer sits down, having finished his introduction. The class waits, eerily quite, for Boomer to stand up—expect he never does. He sits hunched over a notebook with his hoody up.

“Excuse me? It’s your turn.” Mr. Kellman speaks, only Boomer doesn’t seem to have heard or is simply ignoring him. “Is he asleep? Can someone nudge him?”

The boy sitting next to Boomer pales but reluctantly taps him on the shoulder. Boomer looks up at him, which causes the poor boy to start sweating in his seat. With shaking hands he points to the front of the classroom. Boomer looks to Mr. Kellman with sudden realization.

"Oh, my turn?" He asks, his voice as low as she imagined, but surprisingly softer than she would have expected from him.

Mr. Kellman nods his head.

Boomer gets up, pulling out his earphones. If Mr. Kellman is at all bothered by Boomer’s use of electronics in class, which is against the rules, he doesn’t let on. “My name is Boomer. I signed up for art because um, I like to draw, so…yea.” He sits back down, and the room takes a collective breath.

"Alright. That was great. I look forward to working with you and seeing what you guys cr—" The bell cuts off Mr. Kellman, and his students rush outside. Bubbles sits, waiting for the room to clear. She looks at the many students rushing to get out of class and out of school. They're all eager to get somewhere. Clubs, jobs, friends. Bubbles doesn't have cheer practice today, and she's not sure what to do with herself. It's not like she can hang out with her sisters like she would've normally done. They're busy now, working and making friends of their own. There is Robin.

Thank goodness for Robin.

Boomer is one of the last stragglers to exit the room. His hoodie is still up, concealing most of his sun-kissed hair. He pops in his earphones and heads out, his back facing her. If she didn't know who he was, he'd be indistinguishable from any other student. His dark clothes help him blend in. You'd think someone with so much money—someone who claims to like to draw—would dress a bit more colorfully. He probably just doodles or does graffiti. No point in wearing expensive clothes if they're just going to get stained with spray paint.

“Bubbles?”

Bubbles jumps up at Mr. Kellman's voice. Momentarily forgetting where she is. She looks around noting that she and her Arts teacher are the only two in the room.

“Got any place to be?”

"Oh, yeah. Sorry. I'm leaving." She gets up gathering her things when a thought occurs to her, "You remembered my name?"

Mr. Kellman laughs, “Of course I do. You’re the triplet.”

“Yeah, but—Gosh, you remember that too? There’s like over 40 students in your class.”

"It's 39 students actually—that might change though, and I make it a point to remember everyone's name." Mr. Kellman leans in, suspicious-like, "But between you and me, it's always easier to remember the first and last name in a list." Mr. Kellman leans back with a smile "That would make you and Mr. Boomer my favorite students so far."

Bubbles giggles, “I don’t know how long that’ll last, but I’ll take what I can get.”

"Hey, in my lifetime—which is still relatively short, by the way—I have known exactly three different pairs of twins. One fraternal and two identical. You are the first triplet I've ever met. I'm sure I won't be forgetting that."

Bubbles smiles “I’ll see you tomorrow Mr. K.”

“Mr. K?”

“Uh, yeah. Was that not one of your pre-approved nicknames? Sorry, I have a really bad memory.”

Mr. Kellman laughs. “Mr. K is fine. I really like it, actually.”

Bubbles nods and starts heading out.

“Oh, Bubbles?”

She turns around, “Yeah?”

“No need to rush out of class. You’re always welcomed to spend extra time in here.”

Bubbles smiles once more, “Thank you. I’ll keep that in mind.”

* * *

 

“Come on ladies! You guys can do better than this!”

Ms. Daily’s voice is lost in the heat of the game. Girls are running ragged, calling out plays, trying not to get too winded except it’s impossible because this is the first practice of the season and it is hot as hell outside. Buttercup is trying to focus but the heat is too strong and she keeps getting the yellow and orange jerseys mixed up. It’s like they’re melting together. Not to mention the ball. If everyone weren't chasing after it, she wouldn’t even be able to make out the white and black ball.

"Watch your defenses! You're leaving yourselves wide open!" Ms. Daily yells, blowing her whistle.

Two girls collide, fighting for the ball. Neither gets it as the ball goes flying into the air. Catching her first real glimpse of the ball the whole practice, Buttercup runs after it. Another girl reaches it first. She squints. Yellow. Her team. The girl only kicks forward a few feet before passing her the ball. A flash of orange off to the side catches her attention. Buttercup side steps her quick and gains control of the ball. Everyone is chasing her now, but it's pointless. She's the fastest girl on the team. She sees more orange catching up to her, and _damn_ , they've really stepped up their game. To be honest, Buttercup is feeling pretty winded. She's gonna have to put an end to this— fast. Just before a girl on the other side can steal, Buttercup kicks. She's the main striker on the team, and she's good. Everyone has already stopped running. She can even hear a few of her teammates begin to cheer. The ball soars, the goalie jumps up trying to block, but it's unnecessary. The ball collides with the post.

Her team loses.

“Fuck.” She breaths under her breath.

Ms. Daily blows her whistle again. “Alright girls. That’s game. Huddle up.”

The girls quickly make their way off the field, while Buttercup lags behind. Some of the girls give her a look. Some of the looks are of annoyance, some of pity, and some look smug. Mostly the girls in orange.

“Alright bring it in, bring it in. That was a good hustle out there today. Good not great. But we’re going to work on that. Now, because it is the first day of school and because I am like the best coach ever,”

The girls laugh.

“There will be NO after school practice today.”

The girls cheer.

“Okay, okay. Settle down. I’m still expecting gold from you ladies. So don’t expect me to go easy on you guys tomorrow. Our number one issue right now is endurance. We’re going to start building up stamina come tomorrow, so get your asses in gear, because this weak game I saw out here today will not be tolerated. Understood?”

The girls groan, “Yes.”

“Alright, good. Bell rings in five minutes. Go get changed.”

The girls all lazily start walking to the locker room. No one is in a hurry; they don’t have to be. It’s the last class of the day, and with practice canceled they have nowhere to be.

“Buttercup.” Ms. Daily calls out. “Can you hold on for a sec. I need to talk to you.”

Buttercup stops in her tracks and turns back around. She gets a few glimpses her way, but she pretends not to notice.

“Coach.”

Ms. Daily looks past her at the retreating group of girls. She waits until they are far enough away to address her. “So here’s the thing. I don’t do subtle.”

Buttercup snorts. Doesn’t she know. Ms. Daily is as direct as a freight train. It’s one of the many things she likes about the woman.

“So, I’m just gonna come out and say it.”

Buttercup lifts a brow in question. Say what?

“How you been? With your father and all?”

Oh…this again.

“I’m good.”

Silence follows. “…That it? Good?”

Buttercup shrugs, "Well…yea. What am I suppose to say? My dad is dead. It sucks, but you know...I'm good."

Now it’s Ms. Daily’s turn to snort. “You really know how to reassure a person.”

“There’s nothing to reassure. There is nothing going on. Like I said I’m good. I’ve…moved on.”

“Moved on?”

"Yeah."

Ms. Daily hums, “Really? ‘Cuz your performance out on that field today begs to differ.”

“Look, I’m sorry about that, but you said it yourself. We really sucked out there.”

"Yea, and after a summer of inactivity I expect that from my girls, but I don't expect that from you." Ms. Daily says pointing a finger at her chest. "You were playing like a damn blind bat out there. You were blocking the wrong people, avoiding the ball, playing defense when you should've been playing offense—not to mention that last goal. You got the ball once, and you completely blew it."

Buttercup looks down at her cleats, frustrated. Clenching her fist every time Ms. Daily brings up another embarrassment. She gets it; she totally humiliated herself, no need to rub it in. She feels bad enough as it is.

Ms. Daily lets out a sigh, "Buttercup," she says placing a hand on her shoulder. "Talk to me. What's going on?" 

_Nothing you need to know about._

Buttercup opens and closes her palms a few times before answer. “It was…just really hot out today.”That’s true it is hot. Hot enough that everything melts together to create one big blur. She doesn’t know if that’s normal, but she’s been pretending that it is, especially since it’s been happening a lot lately. It’s gotta be the heat. It’s just gotta.

Ms. Daily bends down, trying to make eye-contact but Buttercup looks away, squinting as if the sun is in her eye. “Tired too. That’s it.”That’s also true. She’s dead tired. Bags under her eyes tired. Most people thinks it's a look like she rubbed eyeliner all over her eyes, but it's not. She can't sleep. 

“Are you having trouble sleeping?”

Buttercup shakes her head, “No. Just stayed up late. There was a horror movie marathon on last night.” That’s true, sort of. There was a horror movie marathon on last night, but that’s not the reason she stayed up late. She would have done that anyway.

The bell rings.

“Sorry, Ms. Daily. I gotta go, get to work, but, um… I promise I’ll do better.”

Buttercup runs off, not letting Ms. Daily finish. Ms. Daily has been her soccer coach since JV freshman year. Ms. Daily likes to tell her she's her star athlete, which is why she's always harder on her. Not that Buttercup minds, usually, but Ms. Daily is really observant, and while that's helped her game performance in the past, it only irritates her now.

It's not her dad. That's not the problem. But Ms. Daily is going to keep thinking that it is because, well, what else can it be? It would be a good cover for what's actually bothering her only Buttercup is tired of the pity treatment. She hates being looked at as weak. She doesn't need any more of that. It's been nearly six months people—move on!

Buttercup looks over her shoulder to see her coach picking up equipment. If Buttercup wants to avoid questions likes the ones Ms. Daily just asked her then she's going to have to push herself harder than ever before. Distract the older woman with soccer. Make everything seem like it's just peachy-keen.

Fuck.

 

* * *

 

She dresses as fast as she can and heads over to the big oak tree out on the side of the school. She met up with some of the gang during school. It was a little awkward. The little progress Buttercup had made the other night in the Rot had disappeared after Buttercup spent a week hiding out in her house avoiding Mitch and his friends. They were more than a little jaded. They’d assumed she was done hanging out with them, especially with school back in session.

Buttercup convinced them that she wasn't avoiding them, but was grounded for arriving home so late the night they spent in the Rot. Mitch pitched in too, saying she was busy with work. She had truly had been actively avoiding Mitch, so it was a little surprising that he helped cover for her. He might've been covering for himself too, but that didn't stop the warm tingle she got from Mitch having her back.

With school back on, she no longer had detention. She wanted to hang out, do something if they were cool with it. They were. Jennifer said she didn't care, but if she was going to be desperate about it, then she was free to join them.

_Bitch._

She didn’t know after school practice would be canceled but had promised she’d meet them after school anyway. It’s not like she really wanted to spend her time running around a bunch of chicks out in the hot sun. Not when she could be spending her time hanging out with Mitch. 

Yeah. Mitch was the way better option.

She walks as fast as she can, hoping they haven’t left without her. It wouldn’t surprise her if Jennifer convinced everyone to leave her behind. She sees the tree a few feet away, and thankfully they haven’t left yet.

“Hey.” She greets, breathlessly. “Sorry, didn’t mean to keep you guys waiting.”

Mitch nods his head, “No worries. Just got here.”

"Yeah, but it feels like forever." Jennifer bites out with a hot glare directed at the clueless couple beside her, making out furiously. "Hey! She's here. Let's fucking leave already." She yells, hitting Lauren in the back of the head. The couple separate with a loud wet pop.

Gross.

“Ow! Jenni, that hurt.”

“Like I care. _Vamonos_!” Jennifer yells again, storming away.

"I'd ask what crawled up her butt, except she's not acting any differently," Buttercup says once Jennifer is far enough away.

“She just misses Donnie. That’s all. It’s kinda sweet.” Lauren explains, leaning on Craig as they walk. 

Mitch and Buttercup give each other a look.

“Yea, _real_ sweet," Mitch says. 

"Lucky SOB. I still can't believe he got a job!" Craig complains, "Like what is even the point of staying at this crap school? I could be making some serious dough right now. Like what the—" Lauren stops walking and throws herself on top of her boyfriend. Stopping him mid-sentence with a kiss.

Buttercup pauses, stunned and makes her way as far from them as possible. "Uhh…what?" She asks, grossed out and confused.

“It’s Lauren’s plan to keep Craig from dropping out.” Mitch explains, “I know, gross right? But I gotta say, it’s been effective so far.”

"Like hell it has!" Jennifer screeches out, having marched back to the group. "They're more obnoxious than ever, and Craig's complaining has increased if anything!" She throws a plastic bottle she picked off the street and throws it at their heads. The couple jumps apart with a laugh.

“Hey if I’m going to keep gettinghot n’ heavy kissing every time I complain, then there’s no point in me stopping, is there?”

“Ugh!” Jennifer storms away…again.

"Wise man," Stevie mutters from behind her.

“You guys are seriously disturbed.” Buttercup laughs.

“Pick up the pace!” Jennifer yells back at them.

"Geez, she reminds me of my sister," Buttercup mumbles. "Red hair and all."

“Shouldn’t we be taking a bus or something? I can’t walk that far with how fast Jenni wants us to go.”

“Bus?” Buttercup questions, “The Curb isn’t that far away.”

"We're not going to the Curb. Donnie is still working, and Jenni wants to go visit him." Craig answers. "I can't picture Donnie working. He's the laziest ass I've ever met."

"Oh, won't it be fun? Going back to the Rot. It was so exciting last time." Lauren gushes.

Buttercup and Mitch share another look.

"Yeah… _fun_.”Buttercup mumbles.

"Yea, well, it doesn't matter to me if you guys hoof it all the way there. I gotta get to the shop." Mitch says.

"You work today?" Stevie quietly questions. It's rare the times Stevie doesn't know something. He knows everything about everything. It's probably why he's so quiet; he's always listening for more intel.

"Yea. Dad just texted me that they're short-handed today and he needs help if they're going to complete their orders on time. Wanna come help? I'm sure there's some overtime in it for you." Mitch says, nudging her side.

She doesn't work today. With school and soccer, Buttercup has had to reduce her hours by half. Looking at Mitch's face, though, she understands that he's lying. Even though he asked in joking way, she can see the dead seriousness in his eyes. The only other time she saw that look was the night of the Rot.

"Ok" She nods her head, "Might as well take advantage of the situation and make a couple of extra bucks."

"Cool." Mitch starts to slow down his pace, preparing to head in the opposite direction from everyone else. "We'll catch you guys later."

"Yo, Bob's Burgers? Tonight? Donnie's paying." Craig asks, waving them goodbye. Bob's Burger's is a cheap little burger shack they usually eat at. It's not actually called Bob's Burgers; it's called Burger Lord. Ghetto rip-off of Burger King. The owner is named Bob, though, and even though they're his best customers he always complains that they make too much noise, so Craig started calling him Bob's Burgers to annoying him some more. The name kinda stuck.

"Pfft." Mitch spits, "Like hell, Donnie's ever going to pay."

"He should now that he has money. We're planning on using Jenni to distract him while we raid his wallet." Lauren looks up ahead to the angry red-head that has no idea what they're talking about then whispers, "But don't tell her I said anything."

Buttercup laughs, "Yeah, that seems like a smart plan."

"We'll catch you there." Mitch answers.

Mitch and Buttercup detour down a familiar dirt road. They walk in silence for a while, trying to create some distance between them and everyone else—anyone else that might be listening.

“So…” Mitch starts, “um, how you been?”

Buttercup groans, "You know I am so sick and tired of everyone asking me that. I mean, I know you're asking for a different reason, but still…fucking annoying."

Silence follows. They keep walking and the familiar sight of abandoned cars signal they are close to the shop. They're only a few feet away when Mitch suddenly stops walking. Buttercup stops too, turning back to face him.

“You know he’s not really expecting us, right?”

"I figured but it's not like he'd be surprised to see us, and I meant what I said about using the extra cash."

“Buttercup.” Mitch sighs

"What Mitch? You were the one that said to go on like nothing happened. That's exactly what I'mdoing."

“I haven’t seen you for a week. I’m worried, can’t I be worried? What’s going on with you?”

Buttercup grunts in frustration, “I’m sorry, Mitch, that I haven’t taken the fact that I saw a person get run over better. I saw a fucking person die! I can’t just forget that!”

“Buttercup!” Mitch says shushing her, “ Not so loud.”

“Why?” Buttercup hisses quieter, “Who are these people that could be hearing? Why can’t we go to the police?”

"Buttercup," He says her name calmly, too calmly like he's trying to calm a hysterical child. "I told you. What we saw that night—we weren't supposed to see that. I know it's bad, but things like that don't happen in the Rot by accident. People can literally get away with murder there because everyone knows the police won't investigate—don't care to investigate."

“That’s because no one goes to the police!”

"For a reason!" Mitch lets out a breath, "People don't go to the police because sooner or later everyone finds out who snitched and what happened to that man could very well happen to us. I know it doesn't seem right, but it's just not safe and not just for us but for your family too. Besides, you don't know what all that was about. I mean, not to excuse what happened but...nobody that dies in the Rot is innocent."

Buttercup drops her gaze to the floor, taking in everything that Mitch is saying. She knows he's right. She questioned his logic at first, but something about his begging tone made her realize this was something Mitch had experience with. She didn't want to ask, didn't want to unearth any skeletons he had buried, so she listened and kept her mouth shut.

Still, the guilt is eating away at her. Not to mention the images of the broken man laying dead on the street that are keeping her up at night. She likes gore and horror, but seeing it in real life isn’t as cool as she once thought. She clenches her fist tight.

"That doesn't make it right." She mumbles, her head hung low.

"I know," Mitch whispers. Then he does something completely unexpected; he hugs her. They've never hugged before, not even when Mitch gave his condolences for her father's death. It's weird but in a really really good way. His chin sits on top her head, and her ear is pressed up against his neck. She can hear his breathing, and she knows that sounds dumb, creepy almost, but it's the closest she's ever been to him, and it's amazing.

Buttercup, not wanting to let the moment go, wraps her arms around him, her fingertips touching. He's thin, but she can feel the lean muscles underneath. She knows he hugged her to steady her, comfort her, but she feels even shakier than before. Her heart is beating faster, and she's clammy all over.

Butterflies. That's what Bubbles calls it, and that must be what's she's feeling now.

"There's something else I have to tell you," Mitch speaks, breaking the hug. Buttercup tries no to let her disappointment show. "It's the reason I lied about Dad needing me at the shop. I needed to talk to you in private."

Buttercup stares at him, confused by what he might mean. Mitch takes another breath.

“I know you’ve been going back to the Rot.”

Buttercup takes a step back her fists clenched even tighter. "What?"

“You don’t have to lie to me.”

"But…I mean…I haven't." Buttercup pauses, the look in Mitch's eyes dead serious once more. "Fine. Yeah. I have been back to the Rot—but only once! How the hell do you even know? Are you following me?"

Mitch shakes his head, "No. I…I went back too, but not…not to the same place. I was just skating around, wanted to get…I don't, info, I guess. It was dark that night; I wasn't sure if anyone had seen us. Anyway, I heard some guys talking. About this girl that kept showing up to this one place, circling it like she was looking for something. I asked what she looked like and where they've seen her, told them I was looking for my sister that ran away and well, the description fit you dead on. Buttercup, what were you thinking?"

“I wanted to see if he was still there. I don’t know what I expected. I kinda thought…he’d still be there, but there was nothing. No body, no tire marks, not blood stains—nothing.”

“Buttercup, that was stupid dangerous. You shouldn’t of gone back.”

“What do you mean? You went back too! How the hell was that any less dangerous?”

“I went back to the Rot, not the scene of the crime!” Mitch huffs.

“Is that why you pulled us away from everyone, to keep me from going back to the Rot?” Buttercup barks.

“Look, I don’t wanna fight. I’m just saying, maybe it’s best that neither of us go back there. Especially you, someone has seen you.”

"Mitch I get it, but…you don't understand. There was nothing. NOTHING. This man existed one moment and the next he was gone and whoever did it covered it up so that whoever knew this man would never find out. They will never find out. He'll be just another a missing person, and there will be nothing to bring them peace of mind. There's no….justice. There's…nothing."

Mitch stares, and he's usually such a relaxed guy, but she can see the tension written all over his face. She feels guilty for all of this. If she hadn't gotten so pissed off at him and walked away, he never would have followed, and he wouldn't be in this mess. It's her fault, so it should be her burden alone to carry.

“I’m…sorry…didn’t mean to overreact. Let’s just drop it. Like you said, pretend nothing happened.”

Mitch smiles a small lop-sided smile, "It's okay, just...you know I'm here for you, right? Feel free to unload on me anytime you want."

Buttercup lets out a deep breath, "Right, I wouldn't make that promise if I were you. Honestly, you're the best. I would be running around like a chicken with its head cut off if it wasn't for you."

"Nah." Mitch says, his smile stretching wider, "You're too cool for that."

“You think?” Buttercup asks, an identical smile on her face.

“Course. I mean other girls would’ve balled their eyes out, but you just spaced out.”

“Oh right, ‘cuz shock is so cool.”

“Better than the alternative.”

Buttercup rolls her eyes, “For you maybe. Whatever, so we gonna go to work now or what?”

“What? You were serious about that?”

“Hey not everyone can afford a lavish palace like the one you got.” Buttercup jokes, already walking towards the shop.

“Or right ‘cuz a home on wheels is the height of class, right?”

“Duh.” Buttercup laughs, playfully punching him in the arm.

“You know what, I take it back. You’re a dork.”

“Pfft. You’re the dork.”

"Please."

The air around the two is much friendly walking into the shop. Mitch’s seriousness and concern are replaced by his easy-going smile. For a second, Buttercup can believe that nothing is wrong. They’re just two normal kids messing around. Except, that’s not the case. Something happened. Something bad. Something horrible. It’s going to take more than Mitch’s cute smile and reassurance to make her forget what she saw. What that more is? She doesn’t know, and even though she’s not thinking about it now, later tonight as she struggles to fall asleep, she’ll be wishing she knew what that more was.

* * *

 

In another city, not too far from Townsville.

“Back on board!”

Passengers traveling on the Greyhound are quick to eat the last of their meals, take the last of their pictures, and shuffle their way back on the bus.

"10, 11, 12…15…" The driver takes count of the passengers going on board. "25." Having finished his count, he sits back in the driver seat, ready to shut the doors when a figure stops him.

"Whoa, hold on. You almost left without me." The young man says, holding open the door.

“I’m sorry sir. Do you have your ticket?” The driver asks.

“Yeah, about that.” Suddenly the young man raises his shirt, revealing a gun tucked in the front of his pants. “I’m guessing that’s all the ticket you need to see?”

“Pl…please…I don’t…”

"Quiet." The young man hisses, stepping in closer so that no one can hear them. "I'm not gonna hurt you, or anyone else on this bus. I just need to get somewhere, and you're the only bus that's passing through there. So, as long you keep your trap shut and drive on like nothing happened then I won’t be forced to use this. Got it?”

The driver shakes his head, too fearful to say or do much else. The young man moves to sit in the closest seat to the driver, directly behind him. He takes his gun and places up against his back.

The driver jumps up, “Don’t…please…” he whines.

“Shut up. This is just insurance, in case you feel like doing something dumb and calling the cops. Now go on, I got places to be.”

The driver nods his head again and after a minute of shaking and fumbling around, finally gets the bus going. For the first fifteen minutes, the driver is quite except for the faint whimpers that escape him. The young man considers easing the gun off him to stop his pathetic whines but decides to jam his gun harder into his back. He's not merciless, but fuck if he's going to put up with all this pussy shit. It's not like he even hurt the guy.

"Ummm…sir?" The driver finally says, the pathetic whimper still obvious in his voice.

Dame, fucking relax already. “Yeah?” He answers, jamming the gun into his back again.

The driver groans, “Where…where, um, are you heading? Where should I drop you off?”

A smirk works its way on the young man's face.

"Townsville."

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	5. Chapter 5

As soon as she was out of Mr. Kellman's class, Bubbles rushed over to Robin's locker. She didn't exactly have time to talk to her this morning with Ciara pulling her away so suddenly, but they had caught up during lunch.

Both her sisters had after school commitments, which sucked, but it wasn't like she hadn't grown accustomed to being on her own. Luckily, with Robin back in town, she wouldn't have to spend another day by herself.

“Robin!”

The brunette beauty turns around, her large blues eyes aiding in recognition. “Bubbles. Hey! If you’re looking for Blossom, you just missed her. She already left for work.”

“Yeah. I figured. I was actually looking for you. How was your day? ”

"It was good. None of my teachers are total monsters, so I'm confident I'll manage a solid B average this year. I might even get a few A's too!" Robin responds, closing her locker shut. She begins walking, and Bubbles follows after her.

“That’s great!”

“How was your first day?”

“It’s was okay. Kinda weird.”

Robin stops walking in front of an open classroom.“Weird? Oh? I wanna hear more about that.” 

“Ok, well, you won’t believe who I have to sit—“

"Oh, Bubbles I really do want to hear more, but I meant later. I have to go." She says pointing to the open classroom behind her.

“What? Go where?”

"I signed up for the computer club!" Robin looks gleeful despite the fact that Bubbles feels like her heart just got crushed. "They meet every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday, but don't worry I'll still be able to make it to all the football games—front row cheering you on! I still wanna hear more about that story though, but I have to go, the first meeting is mandatory, sorry honey. I'll catch you later, yeah?" 

Bubbles stands outside the open classroom tugging on a pigtail, "Yeah. Don't worry. Computer club sounds like fun! I'll see you tomorrow." Robin waves her goodbye and enters the classroom. The door closing after her. 

“I’ll just go…home.” Bubbles mumbles.

She heads outside and even though there's plenty of students outside it seems empty compared to this morning. She doesn't usually say or think this, but…this really sucks. Bubbles was hoping with Robin back in town things would be different, but it just looks like it's going to be another lonely day for her. This is starting to become depressing.

“Bubbles!”

It takes Bubbles a minute to realize her name is being called. She looks around confused. “Bubbles! Over here!” She spots a short blond girl standing near the bus stop, waving her over.

“Julie?”

“Hey, I thought I recognized you. You know I never got that phone call.”

“What? Oh! Yeah, sorry. I was going to text you but—”

“But you got caught up with your cheerleading friends, right?”

“No, not really, well sort of in the morning, but that’s not it. I’ve had sort of…an off day—again. But, anyway, I’m really sorry. I meant to get in touch. ”

Julie hums, “This sounds like ice cream talk.”

“It’s not, really, but I mean…” _I could go for ice cream?_ Bubbles thinks, then she thinks about the comments Kitty and the rest of the cheerleaders were making this morning and decides it's best if she lays off the sweet treats. It's not like she thinks she's fat, but she should probably start getting back into cheerleading shape. She's probably already behind everyone else on the squad. "Actually…I'm not in the mood right now. I'll just go home, see you later."Bubbles is already walking away when Julie calls after her.

“Wait!” Julie yells catching up to her. “I’ll walk with you. We are neighbors after all.”

“Right.” Bubbles says, remembering that Julie lives just across the street from her. It's still hard to believe they spent their whole lives so close and this is the first time they've ever spoken. She wonders why that is? "Um? Weren't you waiting for the bus?"

“Huh? Oh, yeah, I was. I was going to work, but I got a last minute call that I wouldn’t be needed today. It’s a good thing I missed the first bus, or else I’d have gone for nothing.”

Bubbles hums, happily accepting her answer, not at all suspicious of Julie's nervous expression, never even noticing it. "That is lucky! I mean, I'm sure you didn't feel that way at first, but I'm glad you missed it—um, I mean, I'm happy you don't have work today. I was starting to think this was going to be another lonely evening."

"Lonely? What about the pom-pom squad? Or you know, your sisters? Isn't that who you normally hang out with?"

“Yeah, normally…everyone’s just busy, that’s all. And I don’t really know what to do with myself when I’m alone.”

“That’s strange.”

“What is?”

"Oh…I meant the whole being alone thing. I mean, I guess I'm biased. I'm usually always by myself. I prefer it that way."

“Really? But you’re so nice.”

Julie smiles, but it comes across like a grimace, "I'm glad you think that." Says Julie after some time. "So did you have a good day back?"

“It was…interesting.”

“Yeah? My day was boring. What made yours so _interesting_?”

“Umm…I don’t know…”

“Oh come on? What is it?” Julie asks, looking curious. 

"Well,…you'll never believe who I'm stuck with as my lab partner."

“Who?”

“Boomer Mercer.”

Julie stills for a second, her eyes growing large and fearful.

"Julie? You okay?" Bubbles asks with worry after noticing Julie has stopped walking.

“Um…yeah…just…oh my God…I can’t…How was it?”

"I guess not as bad as I imaged, but we didn't have to interact today or anything, so he was quiet the whole time. It was still really scary though, and to make matters worse, he's in my art class too."

“Boomer? In art?”

“I know, I thought the same thing. I sure he’s just taking the class for an easy A.”

“Right…that must be it…” Julie says, her voice sounding distant.

“Julie are you sure you’re okay?”

“Yeah, yeah…I’m just worried about you. You know what they say about the Mercers.”

“Do I.” Bubbles agrees. "I'm just going to try my hardest to ignore him and not get on his bad side."

They continue their walk sharing stories of their day. Bubbles found it odd that she didn't share a single class with Julie but Julie's taking AP class and honor courses while Bubbles is enrolled in the normal classes, so it makes sense that they don't see each other often. Bubbles asks if Julie is friends with Blossom since she takes AP classes too, but Julie says she's never spoken to her before. Makes sense, Blossom isn't great at making friends.

Julie is a lot more chatty than Bubbles expected from a self-identified loner, but Bubbles doesn't mind. She enjoys the conversation. 

"He had a piece of broccoli stuck in his teeth the whole class, and I sort of felt bad that no one said anything."

“Why didn’t you?” Bubbles asks laughing.

“No way. I’m sure if I said anything I’d get a detention.” They both laugh.

“Well, this is me," Bubbles says, breaking the laughter and pointing to her house.

"And that's me," Julie says pointing across the street.

"It's so weird that we've lived so close to each other for all these years and yet this is the first time we've talked."

“I know! But no time like the present right? I wish we could keep talking." Julie says, eyeing Bubbles' house. 

“So do I! We could go to the park or something if you want? Unless you’re busy. I know the course work in AP classes is harder.”

"Well I do have homework, but I can multitask that is if you don't mind me coming in." Julie nods to the Utonium house.

"Really?" Bubbles says excitedly, "

You wanna come in?"

Julie nods her head, "Oh, but first I have to ask you a very important question."

Bubbles tilts her head to the side in confusion, "What?"

"Do you have ice cream?"

"Yes! Of course!" Bubbles laughs.

"Excellent. After you." Julie gestures to the house.

The blondes enter the empty Utonium house laughing. Bubbles feeling ten times better. This is the second time Julie has managed to turn her frown upside down. Bubbles is so glad she met her. Even though they’ve just met, Bubbles knows they’ll end up being the best of friends. She has a good feeling about it.

* * *

With nearly two months of working at the Kat's Cafe Blossom has become very familiar with the commute to work; therefore, once the bell rings she moves swiftly and efficiently, not thinking twice about her route to work. She's on the first bus headed downtown before the second bell has rung. Familiarity, routine, and efficiency are the key components of Blossom's life. Without those three key elements, which she strives so hard to achieve in her everyday life, her life would be chaos. Complete and utter chaos. Just the thought is enough to give her a cold sweat.

It’s an overreaction, she knows, but Blossom can’t help her heightened reaction. Most things make her nervous, well, anxious really. She hates it, but at least she has a better handle on it than let’s say, Buttercup’s anger or Bubbles’ tendency to cry. She can keep a pleasant expression and calm demeanor even when she feels like she’s about to throw up…well, most times she can.

At least her sisters aren't held back by their emotional distresses, they can perform in front of hundreds of people with no problem. Buttercup with her sports and Bubbles with her cheerleading. Blossom herself could never imagine doing such things. It's not that she's shy, per say, but there are just too many variables. The uncertainty of it is just so…unsettling. Something can go wrong at any moment, not to mention the fact that they're entirely reliant on the other people on their teams. It's just easier to do things herself, by herself, her way. She can guarantee the best outcome this way.

Some might consider it neurotic thinking, but it suits her just fine. It's this kind of thinking that allows her to sit in the much appreciated air-conditioned bus completely at ease. Despite the less than perfect morning, Blossom's day had gone well, just as she planned. She arrived early to each class which allowed her to pick the best seat, front center. She finished her summer reading list, which meant she was one of the very few not to fail the not-so-surprise pop quiz Ms. Kean handed out. She also had the lunch menu for the month printed out, so she knew to bring her own lunch and avoid the mystery meat sloppy Joe's being served in the cafeteria. All in all, a good day.

Besides work, she has some cleaning and homework she has to get done when she gets home, but none of those things bother her. Yes, she initially had reservations about working at the diner—with Darcy— but after getting used to the place, it wasn't so bad. Darcy was right—which is still hard to say—but the diner does attract a lot of customers. Not so much that she's running haggard all over the place, but enough to make some decent tips. She's also built a somewhat agreeable raptor with Darcy, although Blossom does go out of her way not to ask Darcy for anything. Not that waitressing takes all that much brain power. It's simple. You smile, greet, ask order, write down order, take order to cook, take food to hungry customer, and then smile again. Simple. Routine.

Blossom likes routine.

After getting off and switching to another bus, Blossom reaches her destination with five minutes to spare—just like always. Not like always; however, are the massive amounts of people inside. She’s startled by the crowd at first, but not enough to panic. A bigger crowd just means bigger tips. But then she notices the red, the plaid, the blazer—oh no. She hurries to the back room, where the staff lockers are, quick to avoid the many patrons in the restaurant.

“Blossom, gee are you a sight for sore eyes.” Darcy greets.

"Central Prep. Those are Central Prep students. Why are there Central Prep students here? Why?"

“Whoa, Darlin’ calm down. They come here all the time. I mean Central Prep is only a short walk away.”

“But why here? Why them? I mean, they’re rich. Why would they want to eat _here_?”

“Right, well, I see you’re still with the uppity attitude. If I didn’t know you better, I’d of thought you were one of those rich snobs out there.”

“Sorry…it’s just…I didn’t expect it.”

"Don't worry, Darlin', they do this all year round. I mean we may be cheap, but we got great food. I also overheard once that they like coming here ‘cuz the place is so quaint. I guess coming here is like taking a break from livin' large—getting a taste of what it's like on the other side. Look, the ones that come here are pretty okay, oblivious, but okay. Just don't let the snobby ones bother you."

"Snobby?" Blossom asks, her voice betraying her and revealing how worried she is. It's not only unexpected, which is something she hates, but she's not good with other people her age. Yes, there have been some young people that have visited the diner before, but none from her school and never this many. She knew running into Central Prep students was a possibility when she first took the job, but she didn't think it would be this many. They're rich! Why would they eat here? Okay, yes the food is pretty fantastic, but still. Can't they go out for sushi or gourmet food? Like other rich people.

"Darlin', you okay? You're taking this worse than, well, to be honest, I didn't even consider this to be an issue."

“I was…it just caught me off guard. I wasn’t expecting this.”

Darcy hums, “ ‘kay, well get your uniform on. Got a lot of work to do, and don’t worry, you’ll be fine. Chin up.” Darcy exits the locker room, leaving Blossom alone to gather herself. Blossom puts on her uniform and then takes a minute to steady herself. She’s being silly. The Central Prep kids won’t even know who she is. She’ll be just another face in the crowd, another poor freckled face, but an indistinguishable face nonetheless. It will be fine.

_Cool. Calm. Collected._

She heads out and heads over to her usual table. "Hello, my name is Blossom, and I'll be your waiter. Are you ready to order?"

* * *

An hour into her shift and Blossom's calm mood has returned. Honestly, she feels a little silly for overreacting in the first place. Darcy was right—again, not easy to admit—the Central Prep kids are snobs, but that works in her favor as they just act as if she's not there. That works just fine for her.

“You are so right. This place is _cute_."She overhears someone say. Only the way they say cute is the way a parent might say cute when their child makes an adorable mistake. It's not genuine, just funny.

“More ironic.” Another person from the same table says. “Right?”

“This reminds me of the old country. Like when I went to visit my grandparents.”

"Your grandparents are Lords. I'm sure you didn't see anything except for the inside of their lavish mansion."

"They hand windows—and goats! I think, they looked tiny from my bedroom window."

_Oh heavens, help her._

“That does seem quaint. You were practically living in the wild.”

_On second thought, help them._

DING

A group of three girls all from Central Prep walk in.

“Hi, welcome to the Kat’s Cafe. We’re a little crowded today, but we still have some seats available in back if you would follow me.”

The tall redhead in front of her scans the place, completely ignoring her. Rude, but she's come to expect it from this crowd. Unless she's wearing designer clothes Blossom supposes she's pretty much invisible to these people.

“Ugh. This place is so tiny. He’s not going to be here, Princess. ” A girl from the group speaks up.

“Yeah, this place is completely beneath him.” The third girl adds with her polished British accent. 

"Would you two shut up! I'm looking! According to Twitter, he's here. Oh! There! In the back! I told you he'd be here." The monstrously tall girl with the twin red buns pushes past her and walks to the back.

“Uh…” Blossom almost stops them, but considering they’re moving towards either A) someone they know or B) one of the empty tables in the back, Blossom supposes it isn’t much of a big deal.

“More keep com in, eh?” Darcy says.

“Yeah, and they’re all Central Prep students. We haven’t had a regular customer all afternoon, is it normally like this?”

“Hmm, well, Central Prep kids do like to bug this little place from time to time, but, heck, this is a special occasion.”

“First day back you mean?”

“No. I mean—”

“Hello! Would SOMEONE mind attending us!”

Both waitresses turn to the back where the tall curly-haired redhead is currently yelling for them.

“Your table, sorry Darlin’.”

With a sigh Blossom heads to the back table where the lavishly dressed girls look out of place in the small plastic booths.

"Hi, my name is Blossom, and I'll be your waiter. What can—"

“God! Finally! Is service always this slow here?”

“Sorry, we have a lot of customers today.”

“I bet.” Snorts one of the girls, “This place has officially been put on the map.”

“What do you—”

“Bristle, shut it.” The redhead commands. She then snaps her muddy brown eyes to her, “Well? Aren’t you going to take our order?”

“Yes, what would—”

“What’s the most expensive thing on your menu?” The redhead asks, practically yelling. Loud enough to turn heads.

“Um, I beg your pardon?”

“They hire deafs here? Wonderful.” The British girl says sarcastically.

“I said,” The redhead bites out slowly. “What is the most expensive thing you have _here_.”Again, practically yelling her question. 

“Umm…I don’t…the stake? I guess. I mean all our food is pretty affordable.”

"Well, duh, of course, it is." The British girl says, causing the other brunette girl, Bristle, to laugh.

“Ugh, no way am I having a stake here. Who knows what that low-quality beef will do to me?”

"Although a stomach flu might help you lose those last five pesky pounds you're always complaining about." Bristle whispers to the redhead.

“Don’t remind me.” The redhead laments, smoothing down her stomach with her arm.

Five pounds? She’s model thin already.

“You know this cheap but rather quaint place may be as close to a tea shop back home as we’re ever gonna get. What do you say, Princess?”

Is Princess her nickname? Seems rather affectionate between friends.

“You know what…” The redhead, _Princess_ , clears her throat before speaking up, even louder this time. “We’ll have all the desserts on the menu. Three of everything and a constant supply of tea.”

Blossom nods, “What tea—”

“Doesn’t matter.”

"Early Grey." The British girl requests.

Blossom nods once more before turning away and walking to the counter.

“Are you sure you got the order right?” The cook asks.

"Positive," Blossom responds.

The cook merely shrugs and takes her order stub.

“Boy, are they a piece of work.”

Again, Darcy is _very_ right.

“Hollerin’ like that. You think she’d want everyone to know.”

“I think she did. She came in looking for someone, someone in the back. I don’t know why she didn’t sit with them, but I’m guessing that’s what all that was about.”

“Hmm.” Darcy hums with a hit of understanding in her voice as she stares at the back wall.

“What? Do you know her? Because the way she talked, I don’t think she’s ever stepped foot in here before.”

“No not her, but I think I know who she’s looking for; it’s the same reason all these kids came in here today.”

“What do you mean? Who?”

Darcy grabs her by the shoulder, bringing her in close. An act Blossom does not approve of.

“You see that boy over there. Sitting by himself?” Darcy whispers.

Blossom looks over the hordes of students and spots a redheaded boy sitting by himself in the back booth, a booth over from where the three rich girls sit.

Darcy voice lowers, “He’s Brick Mercer.”

Brick Mercer? Mercer…

Blossom gasps, “A Mercer? Here?”

"Shh. Quiet girl. Don't make it obvious."

Blossom doesn’t know him, just his family. Mercer is synonyms with bad, deceitful, cheater, and, well, just plain evil. Bad deals, bad business practices, bad role models. There’s also the rumors that can’t be ignored. Violent and criminal rumors that normally Blossom wouldn’t believe except for the fact that she heard these rumors from a reliable source. Her father. 

“He’s evil.” Blossom spits out.

“Well, now he hasn’t done anything. Hasn’t even spoken to another person ’sides me. I think you’re being a little harsh on him.”

"He's a Mercer," Blossom argues as if that's all the proof she needs. Which it is.

“Order up!” The cook yells, breaking their whispering.

“That’s me.” Blossom grabs hold of as many plates as she can carry and takes them over to the snobby girls’ table. “Here you go.”

“Finally!” Princess, yells. “And where’s our tea? You expect us to eat without anything to drink? What kind of service is this!”

“Sorry, Miss, I’ll go get you those drinks.”

"Well, then go! Stop flapping your mouth and get them!" Princess yells again, causing the other girls at her table to laugh. Blossom turns around and spots other snobbish and gleeful looking eyes staring at her. Blossom lowers her eyes and quickly shuffles over to the teapot. She can still feel their glares, like need points on her skin.

_Cool. Calm. Collected._

She grabs the teapot and rushes back. With cups in her hands, she pours out the drinks and hands them over. She wisely chooses not to say anything, having learned nothing she says will appease the _Princess_ of the table.

"Waitress!" A customer from another table calls her, and thank heavens; she needed a distraction. "Could you bring me some of those sweets please, _sweets_?” The blond boy winks at her, causing his buddies to laugh.

Oh no. Not thank heavens.

Thirty minutes later and it's as if Princess has magically been able to make her visible. She complained about being ignored before, but this type of attention is even worse. The crowd hasn't diminished in the slightest, and every few seconds she'll hear "Sweet Cheeks," "Waitress," "Red" and her personal favorite, "Peasant." They either want more food or to poke fun at her. It has her on edge. She's almost dropped plates she's shaking so much. Her shift doesn't end for another two hours, and she doesn't know how much more of this she can take.

“Peasant!”Princess yells out, still her least favorite customer. She’s even worse than the leering boys. “Tea.” She says simply, then turns back to her conversation.

“It’s like so weird that he’s still here, right?”

"I know. What is even the appeal of this place?" The British girl says, taking yet another bite of her third slice of chocolate cake.

Blossom begins pouring out the tea, slowly. Her hands are still shaking. All this unwanted and negative attention has given her a headache that has left her vision somewhat hazy. She can pretend that it's a migraine, but Blossom is keenly aware that she's very close to having a panic attack.

_Cool. Calm. Collected._

“Whatever. Doesn’t matter. As long as he stays in one place.” Princess says, “I mean, God is he hot or what? Europe was too good to him.”

“How would you even know? Your back is to him.” Bristle points out.

“Because I saw him at school, duh. Besides, his back is to mine as well. It’s a power play. So hot. He is _very_ aware that I am here and when he’s ready, it will be so on.”

Oh heavens. This boy, this good for nothing boy is the reason her life is hell right now. What is even the attraction? Blossom sneaks a peek at the boy in question while the girls rattle on. She can't see much besides his dark red hair as he's faced way from them just as Princess described. He seems oblivious to the conversation—very loud conversation—happening in the booth right next to him. His attention solely on the book in front of him. What is he even reading? Blossom stretches out her neck, curious to see what he's reading, and catches a glimpse of the cover.

_The Count of Monte Cristo._ Interesting _._

“Ow!” Princess cries out, jumping out of her seat. “You stupid girl! Look what you did!”

Blossom jumps back, lifting her teapot from where she accidentally dropped some on the angry redhead. "I am so sorry! It was an accident!" Blossom tries to explain.

"You did that on purpose!" Princess yells, enraged. She can feel everyone's attention on her. The diner having gone quiet. Oh, this was such a careless mistake. Stupid. Stupid. What does she do now? Oh no, she can feel it,—sweating palms, rapid heartbeat, erratic breathing—she's going to have a panic attack. No, no, no, no, no! Not here. Not now.

"I'm sorry!" Blossom manages to yell out between erratic pants, "I really am! Here let me—"

“Stay away from me! Ugh! You…you…BITCH!” The word stings, having never experienced that word directed at her before, but what stings more or should she say what _will_ sting more is the slap that Princess intends to give her with that outstretched hand. Blossom flinches, but the blow never comes. She opens her eyes and finds the redheaded Mercer standing in front of her, his hand wrapped around Princess’ small wrist.

“Oh!…Br…Brick…” Princess stammers with a bright pink flush over her pale face.

“How about we get out of here?” Brick asks, nodding his head toward the door. Princess swoons, no doubt thinking the gesture so romantic, but his voice just sounds so…bored and…forceful, like a demand rather than a romantic request.

"Oh, Brick." Princess swoons again. Brick walks ahead of her having dropped her arm like a rag doll. Princess follows after him as giddy and excited as a puppy given a new toy. Princess' friends follow after her, casting her nasty looks as they walk by. Blossom merely bows her head, avoiding their sharp gaze.

“I expect the meal is free then? Given the fact you poured scalding water on my friend.”

Blossom says nothing and timidly nods her head.

The girls walk ahead, and when she hears the familiar ding of the door, she runs to the locker room as fast as she can. She locks the door behind her when she hears Darcy call her name.

Then she falls apart.

She cries, but not from embarrassment, although that may play a part. She cries because she feels horrible, unsteady and unreasonable—hysterical. She falls to the ground and pulls her knees up to her chest, trying to quiet her sobs and control her breathing.

_Cool…Calm…Collected…_

_1…2…3…10…30…50_

She counts, and she counts, and she counts, and she only stops when she hears the banging on the door. It's Darcy, yelling for her to open up. She's sure she was knocking on the door earlier, but only now that her heartbeat has slowed can she actually hear Darcy.

“Blossom! Open up!”

Blossom sighs. She really doesn’t want to open, she still feels lightheaded and shaky and like she’s about to throw up, but she has a job to do, and well, Blossom never slacks on her responsibilities. She opens the door timidly, Darcy’s stocky frame hiding the view of the rest of the diner. Darcy pushes through, not waiting for her to open the door all the way.

“Darcy? What are you—”

"Blossom! Are you okay? Oh, Darlin', come here." Darcy engulfs her in a giant bear hung, hugging Blossom tight to her body. Blossom is too startled at first to reject the hug or even to squirm away from the older woman's touch, but when the shock wears off, Blossom is surprised to find that the hug is actually rather...enjoyable. Darcy is warm and soft—motherly. It's…sweet. Blossom tentatively returns the hug, but unlike Darcy's strong arms, Blossom's own hang limp around Darcy's middle.

Darcy pulls away from the hug all too quick. “Oh, I’m so sorry about what happened out there. Those nasty girls were completely out of line. Are you alright?”

“I am…I will be.”

“Hmm, well, alright, but why don’t you just go on home. I think you’ve done enough for today.”

“But the crowds?” Blossom argues, “I can’t leave you to all that work alone.”

"Don't worry about it, most of them left already. As I said, they only came to see the Mercer boy. Now go on home and get some rest."

Blossom nods, “Thank you. I’ll just change really quick.”

Darcy smiles in return before exiting the locker room, “Oh, and Blossom,”

“Yeah?”

“These guys…those girls…they ain’t worth it, so don’t lose any sleep over it, ‘kay.”

Blossom smiles back, "Okay."

Darcy leaves. Blossom quickly dresses and goes home. Fortunately, as Darcy said, there aren't any students left in the diner, so Blossom is able to leave with some dignity and some peace of mind. Except as Blossom's mind tends to do, she thinks of the following days and the fear and dread that this might happen again makes her feel all that much worse. She tries to think of positive thoughts the whole ride home to distract her from today. As she thinks a sudden thought occurs to her.

_Why did he help me?_

* * *

They end up going to Bob's Burgers. Mitch and her. The sun is setting by the time they get there, and Buttercup knows they'll stay out way past sundown. Mitch doesn't ask outright, but she knows he questions her being out so late. Luckily, he's learned not to question her decisions after their last argument. Like she said, she doesn't need another mother hen clucking at her and telling her what to do. No matter how cute he is.

"Finally! Where the hell have you guys been?" Craig yells out, surrounded by everyone else at their usual table. There are wrappers and half-eaten food all around them. They've obviously been here a while.

“What the fuck, guys? You ate without us?”Buttercup complains.

“The fuck took you guys so long?”

“Work. Dick.” Mitch answers, “My dad took advantage and worked us extra hard. I swear the guy is a tyrant.”

"At least we waited for you." Adds Jennifer sounding annoyed. "We've been here for over an hour; I thought you guys were never gonna show."

"That's sweet," Buttercup says with a flat tone. "You buys us food too?"

“We did but, uh, we kind of ate it.” ” Answers Donnie, making everyone laugh.

“You mean you actually paid for something, Donnie?” Mitch asks, surprised.

“Wasn’t my intention, morons here stole my wallet.”

"Yeah, we did!" Lauren beams, waving Donnie's wallet in the air. Seemingly happy with herself that her planned work.

“Give me that!” Jennifer screams trying to snatch Donnie’s wallet back only for Lauren to throw it at Buttercup. “Here! Dinner’s on Donnie!”

Buttercup catches the wallet but doesn't know whether to listen to Lauren or not. It's one thing to joke around, but Donnie is still none too pleased with her, and well, he's a crazy asshole. She doesn't need someone like that getting pissed off at her—not any more than he already is at least. Luckily, she's saved by Mitch.

“Come on BC, let’s get some food before Donnie decides to reclaim his trashy wallet.”

“I heard that!” Donnie yells as the two walk over to the counter.

Not too long after that, they're all seated together eating burgers and talking about stupid stuff that doesn't really matter. They're loud, crass—annoying, according to some of the customers and the owner himself, Bob—but Buttercup doesn't really care. It's fun. Buttercup hasn't had much of that over the last week, and she welcomes the distraction. They stay there way past the time Mitch and Buttercup both finish their burgers. Everyone too full and tired from either work or having to get up early for school to do anything else.

“… And I ended up punching him right in the face, but like it turned out to be my mom’s new boyfriend.” Craig laughs, finishing a ridiculous story. “Man, was my mom _pissed_.”

“The guy deserved it. Creeping around like that, what? Were you not suppose to hit him?” Donnie adds, causing everyone else to laugh some more.

This is…nice, which is usually an odd word to describe this group, but for once it's nice. No one is drunk; no one is making fun of her or making rude, snide comments. It's just a couple of friends hanging out and enjoying some burgers. It's so…normal. Normal enough to make Buttercup forget that her life has been anything but normal for the last five months.

“Oh my God, that reminds me!” Lauren exclaims, “Have I told you all the story of how Craig and I met?”

Multiple groans erupt around the table.

"I swear, you tell this story at least ten times a year," Jennifer complains. "And it wasn't even a good story to begin with."

"I haven't heard the story," Buttercup says, mostly to annoy Jennifer but also a little curious.

“Oh good! Ok, so it was back in first grade. I was seven and Craig was—”

“..a grown man.” Mitch jokes.

"Fuck off; I was only held back once."

“Twice.” Stevie quietly adds.

“Ha! Idiot!” Donnie laughs.

“Shut up! The fuck the two of you know anyway!”

“Anyway!” Lauren interjects, “As I was saying. It was in first grade…”

A buzzing in her back pocket distracts Buttercup. She pulls out her phone to see it’s a phone call from Blossom. Buttercup is quick to end the call.

"… Obviously, I did not like him, and he didn't like me, but don't the best love stories start out that way?"

Another buzzing distracts Buttercup once more. This time a text. _Where are you? When are you getting home?_ Buttercup frowns at her phone. She doesn't want to answer, and she usually doesn't, but she probably should. She's supposed to make everything appear like it's normal. Nothing out of the ordinary. Blossom may think she's just being rebellious, but Bubbles is more suspicious. That same night that Buttercup went back to the Rot, Bubbles had gotten so…serious and started asking her all these questions. _Where were you? How are you feeling? Do you want to talk about anything? Have you eaten?_ That last question was specially asked with some attitude, very unusual for her typically bubbly baby sister.

Now even her coach is asking questions. It's starting to get out of hand. So, even though she doesn't want to, Buttercup knows it's best to humor her older sister a bit. She turns away from everyone else to text back her reply; she doesn't want everyone questioning who she's texting. It's one thing to answer to a parent—guardian in her case— another thing to answer to your older sister. Talk about embarrassing.

As she finishes her text, a loud engine sound catches her attention. She looks up just in time to see a black car speeding through the intersection. She drops her phone, stunned. It's the car. _THE_ CAR. The black vintage charger with no license plates. The one that ran over that man. What the _fuck_ is it doing here? What the FUCK! Is it following her? Taunting her?

But it’s not possible. No. No. No! That car should not be here. It can’t! Mitch said…he said…

_“That car is probably a pile of junk by now.”_

She thinks back to the night of the accident.

_“What do you mean he’s dead? He can’t be dead. Call an ambulance. Call the cops! Call somebody!”_

_“Buttercup…Buttercup!” Mitch yells, grabbing her and pulling her away, “We have to get out of here.”_

_“What? We can’t leave!”_

_“He’s already dead!”_

_“Then we have to call the cops!”_

_“We can’t call the cops.”_

_"What…why…" Buttercup in her shock and disoriented state was easily dragged away by Mitch. She feels panic all over but manages to stay quiet for the first twenty minutes. It's once they pass a familiar street, the halfway point between her home and the auto shop that she realizes that what she saw wasn't a pizza binge induced nightmare but an actually real-life murder._

_“What…what the hell just happened? Did we…I mean…was that…”_

_"Buttercup," Mitch says grabbing her shoulders roughly and forcing her to face him, "Listen to me. We didn't see anything, okay? We didn't see anything; we don't know anything. We're just two lost kids, and we're going home, and everything is going to go on like normal, got it?"_

_“What…what the fuck Mitch!” She yells, pushing him off her, “We just saw someone get run over. He’s…he’s dead. We have to call someone!”_

_“Buttercup we can’t do that. I know it may not seem obvious to you, but that wasn’t an accident. If we go to the cops someone—someone very dangerous—will be able to trace it back to us and then we’ll be just as dead.”_

_“What? No…that…that’s not true! It can’t—”_

_"Buttercup, look at me! It's very true. We. cannot. go. to. the. cops. Understand?"_

_Buttercup pauses, staring at the dead serious and frightful look in his eyes. “But…can’t…I mean…what…what if…what if we call anonymously? I saw the car! I know the make and model! Maybe the cops can trace it down and—“_

_“Buttercup, that car is probably a pile of junk by now. There’s no way the police will ever find it. Just forget this ever happened. It’s for the best.”_

_Buttercup argues some more, ranting and raving and altogether being quite hysterical, but Mitch holds on to her, steadying her. It's not until she feels the harsh and painful grip of his hands on her shoulders that she eventually tires herself out and drops the issue._

_“That car is probably a pile of junk by now.”_ Mitch’s words echo in her mind. It should be a pile of junk. There should be no evidence. What the fuck is going on? Did someone see her?

“…And we’ve been together ever since.” Lauren sighs.

“ _Ai Dios Mio_! Did that satisfy your curiosity, Buttercup? Because I swear, we are never hearing that fucking story again."

Silence.

“Um, Buttercup?”

“Yo, Buttercup?”

“God, She probably wasn’t even listening—Buttercup!” Jennifer yells, her already loud voice amplified.

Buttercup jumps, startled by all the attention. “Shit. Uhh…what?”

“You okay?” Mitch asks, giving her a confused look.

“Um…yeah…just got…a little distracted.”

“You didn’t hear my story, did you?” Lauren pouts. “And it was cute too!”

“Hardly,” Donnie mumbles.

“Ooh! I get to tell it again…okay, so we met in the first grade—”

“No!” The whole table groans before breaking into laughter, which makes Lauren pout even more.

"It's been fun guys, but, uh, I gotta go…don't want to get grounded again. See ya' later. " She picks up her her phone and walks away as fast as she can. No one says anything, and they hardly look bothered by her leaving.

"Hey! BC, wait up!" She hears Mitch yell behind her. She turns around to see Mitch jog up to her, the rest of the group staring their way with mild interest. "I'll walk with you."

“It’s cool. I can go home by myself.”

"I know." Mitch agrees, shrugging his shoulders, "I just wanna come with." He walks forwards, not allowing her to argue further. She huffs but follows him anyway. After a few minutes of silence, he finally asks, "So…you okay?"

Buttercup snorts, “Question of the year.”

“Sorry,” Mitch says, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly, “but you sort of spazzed back there. What happened?”

He says it casually but Buttercup can still pick up on the tinge of fear and worry in his tone. He's been so serious and so frightful since this whole mess started, and honestly, she just wants the old Mitch back. She wants to go back to the old, carefree Mitch, to before the dead guy, before the Rot, when it was just the two of them. She wants to go back to before she knew horrible shit like this happens to ordinary people, to a time where her biggest worry was winning a game and making sure her father noticed her. But she can't go back, and unlike Mitch, she can't pretend that nothing happened. It's eating away at her.

She thinks of Blossom—of what she would do. She may be uptight, bossy, and neurotic but she also saved someone's life. Blossom risked her life trying to get help. Blossom—Buttercup reluctantly admits—did something really badass and instead of gloating about it, she tried to downplay the whole thing and keep it to herself. At the time, Buttercup thought her sister was just being annoyingly modest because it's what a good, proper, girl would do. Now, she realizes that she tried to keep it to herself not out of modesty but out of respect for her family. So that they wouldn't worry.

She looks up at Mitch, his large puppy-dog eyes looking down at her with so much concern—so much burden.

If her rigid older sister can do something as reckless—as brave– as save someone’s life, then she sure as hell can do the same.

"I got a text from my sister that my aunt was coming over. She usually doesn't come over, but if she sees that I'm not there, then I'll really be grounded. That's why I panicked—kinda lame actually." She chuckles a little at the end, making her lie all that more convincing. Whether Mitch saw the car or not doesn't matter. It's not fair to him, to drag him down with her, to make him worry any more than he already is. If he wants to put this whole mess behind him then fine. She's a good liar; she can pretend that everything is alright.

“Yeah?” Mitch questions, uncertainty in his gaze and tone. “Nothing else?”

“Nope.”Buttercup answers as innocently as she can.

“Ok… well, you should probably hurry home. I don’t want to slow you down. I’ll catch you at school.”

“Yeah, see ya.”

She runs off, leaving Mitch behind. Come tomorrow she'll do a complete 180, she'll be energetic, present, she'll laugh when she is supposed to, kick goals when she is supposed to, not fall asleep in class—she'll be the picture of normalcy.

But mark her words, she will catch whoever killed that man, and she will make them pay.

* * *

Venus Grey prided herself on being a woman and more importantly being a competent woman. This, Brick noticed, is evident in the way the statuesque blond woman carried and dressed herself. She dressed professionally, but not the way an ordinary office mouse would, plain and drab. No, Ms. Grey's attire was tailor made, every stitch custom made to fit her exact measurements. Tight enough that a slight influx of weight would pop one of the delicate stitches. Ms. Grey was also beautiful. Beautiful in the typical way tall, white, skinny blond women are beautiful. The make-up helped only to enhance her natural features. Her walk was also one of confidence, albeit a bit forceful as she angrily strutted down the hall.

To find both beauty and confidence in a woman is rare and Brick would have found the young Ms. Grey all the more appealing if it wasn’t for the venomous glare she threw at anyone—correction—any MAN that dare look her way. Everything about her screamed _"Look at me! Look how beautiful and womanly I am but I also take myself too seriously, and I am not a piece of meat! How dare you ogle me, you caveman!"_ This over the top feminist attitude is one Brick had become accustomed to in the few interactions he's had with his father's secretary.

“What are you looking at?” said Blond spits as she continues her strut to her desk.

“You’re late.” Brick replies nonchalantly.

"Yes, well, like every other pin-brained, egotistical, inconsiderate male boss in the world your father thinks it a great waste of my time to fetch him coffee." She huffs, slamming the tray of hot beverages on her desk. "Did you know that his drink of choice is a chai latte? So pretentious."

“That is your job as a secretary. Fetching coffee.”

"Assistant." She corrects, "I'm his assistant, and my skills go beyond fetching coffee."

"Right. Like answering calls and making appointments? Face it, Venus, you're a glorified receptionist, and the only reason you've lasted this long is because you refuse to sleep with the boss."

Venus glares at him, her furrowed brow and clenched jaw verbalizing everything she can’t actually say to his face. “I wouldn’t sleep with a man even if he paid me a million dollars.”

“That good. All things considered.”

"Yes, well, all things considered, if the world were a just and fair place this company wouldn't be run by that morally deprived—not to mention sexist— _man_.” 

“If it were up to you this place would be run by an equally morally deprived woman. That doesn’t exactly make for a fair and just place. _Sigh_. You know the answer is quite simple, Ms. Venus, if you hate this place so much why don't you just quit?"

She scowls at him, her hatred of him, his father, and all men present in her icy blue glare. She can get away with giving a dirty look here and there with looks like hers, and it's not as if she's important enough that either Brick or his father care. Perhaps that is what bothers Venus most of all, that even with all her rants she'll never be important enough to matter or change anything. Despite what Venus thinks, it has nothing to do with the fact that she's a woman. There's also the fact that despite her preaching she's just as lazy and greedy as everyone else. Why would she quit when her job is easy and high-paying? She wouldn't. She's not as revolutionary or enlightened as she claims, nor brave enough to want to change things, which is why she gets so upset every time Brick brings it up. He's calling her bluff, and it blows up in her face every time.

"May I inquire as to why you're here?" She asks sarcastically.

“I have a meeting.”

“With your father.”

“With your boss. Now, would you tell him I’ve arrived as that is your job. I’m in a hurry.”

“Please, like your _father_ would ever show up to work before me. So excuse me, but hurry or not, you’ll just have to wait for him.”

"Ooh, that's not a very nice way to address our guests, Ms. Grey. Especially when said guests bares my name." A teasing voice rings out.

“Mr. Mercer! Sir! I’m sorry, I was just—”

“Kindly informing me that you had yet to arrive, father.” Brick answers, slightly bowing his head in both greeting and respect.

"I'm sure." Mr. Mercer hums as he enters his office. A curvy brunette woman walks beside him, and both Brick and Venus follow. The office is large and lavishly decorated, making it appear like a place of fun and relaxation rather than a place of business, which, despite his father's ruthless business persona, fits his personality perfectly.

Hannibal Isaiah Mercer is no Morebucks, a rich businessman born with a silver spoon in his mouth. Brick's father had to claw his way up to the lavish lifestyle he has now and in enjoying the fruits of his labor his father likes to party as hard as he works. Drugs, women, men, expensive…everything they're all emblematic of his father—of HIM. Entering his office is like entering his world, and very few can say they've had the privilege of stepping inside, let alone more than once. Of course, since this man is the one who raised Brick, HIM isn't as scary or impressive as he appears to other people. Doesn't stop HIM from trying to intimidate his sons, however. Even now in the casualty of his own office, Brick's _father_ feels a need to strike a power pose; standing slouched but firm over his center desk with a curvaceous woman by his side. Arms open as if he's relaxed, but his dark eyes narrowed on his eldest son. 

Hannibal is a tall man with a harsh, stern looking face and large calloused hands. He's intimidating as is but Brick's father aspired to be more than a mean-looking thug, and thus HIM was born. HIM is suave, inviting, charming; he wears expensive and colorful suits and a seductive smirk on his face and all of a sudden the once mean-looking thug is transformed to Forbes most successful man of the decade.

He’s a snake in sheep skin.

Venus pushes past Brick to hand out the cups of coffee. “Mines black.” Brick says. Venus hands him his cup, her face staying neutral but the tense, red grip she has on his cup displaying how angry she is with everyone in the room. Tsk, if only she would head his advice and quit.

"You may leave, Ms. Grey." His father announces. Ms. Venus Grey, a proud, beautiful, and stubborn woman is reduced to a meek office mouse as she quietly scurries out of the office. It's depressing to watch but also very interesting. The power his father holds to be able to deconstruct a person and reduce them to nothing is quite…marvelous.

“Brick, to what do I owe the pleasure.” 

There's that familiar snake smirk. "I came to check in. I was hoping to report back last night, but you never showed up."

“Yes, well,” His father starts, eyeing the beautiful woman at his side, “ I don’t visit the manor often.”

“Boomer said as much.”

“By the way. I’d like to introduce you to someone. Brick, this is Ima. She’s a very _very_ good friend of mine.”

"I'm sure. Charmed."

"Likewise." Ima greets her voice as soft as silk. Her plump red lips curve into a smile. " You're the adopted son, right?"

“Right.” Brick answers.

"So generous of Hannibal. But you know it's so funny, you guys look so much alike. You could pass as actual father and son." Ima states, a hint of teasing in her voice.

HIM laughs, a deep bellied laugh. "Considering I took him in as a baby, I don't see how that makes me any less his father. Biological or not." The two share a laugh, ignoring the very peeved redhead in the room. It's nothing he's never heard before, his uncanny resemblance to his adoptive father. So uncanny that he must be Hannibal Mercer's real son, right? They have the same dark eyes and stern face and now that's he's older they're practically the same height, but Brick doesn't think it's conclusive. Not enough to make the leap from adoptive to definitely blood-related. Yet, as he watches his father and new mistress share a laugh at an obvious inside joke, Brick can't help but wonder just how long this Ima lady has had her hooks in her father and just how much she actually knows.

“Funny. I was about to say you remind me of someone as well.”

“Oh? Is it Angelina Jolie? I get that all the time.” She gushes.

“No. Betty Santos.”

The smirk falls right off his father’s face. “Brick…”

“Who the hell is Betty Santos?”

"She's a stripper—was a stripper. I think she's a crack addict now, but she was quite beautiful before. Exotic looking too; tan, dark-curly hair, green eyes—darker than yours — but besides the obvious skin difference you look just like her. Enough to pass as siblings. My father was also generous enough to take in that poor woman's child. Maybe if Butch ever shows his face around here again, people will say you two look like _actual_ mother and son.”

Ima’s half-lidded eyes narrow in fury. “I’m not old enough to pass as anyone’s mother let alone a teenager. Or a crack whore.”

"Of course not, baby." His father whispers into her ear, "Listen, Brick and I have to talk. Why don't you get out of here? I'll see you later."

Ima looks like she wants to argue but quickly decides against it. Smart. You don't stick around a man like HIM and expect to be heard or respected. Not when you look like she does. "Alright." She says, voice soft as silk once more. "I'll be at the penthouse." She struts out of the room and quietly closes the door after her. Another vivacious woman destroyed by his father.

“Sit.” His father demands.

Brick does as he's told but not out of fear or respect, but out of appearance. After all, Brick is the oldest and most loyal son. Favored and groomed to eventually take over his father's company, so Brick has to make sure he plays his part well.

HIM sits across from Brick, trying to seem relaxed and unbothered by what he said. It's not like his father cares about Ima's feelings, but he doesn't like it when people bring up his past. "That's quite a first impression." HIM says.

“You’re the one that always told me that a bad impression is better than leaving no impression at all.”

"I did, didn't I. And it seems like you've already left quite an impression on your first day back."

“You mean Morebucks?” Brick groans.

His father laughs a giddy laugh, one he specifically reserves for the misery of others. "Yes. I had dinner with Mr. Morebucks last night, and it seems his _Princess_ is already planning your wedding.”

“Ughh,” Birck scoffs. “Delusion.”

"Now, Brick, I wouldn't be so quick to dismiss her. She can be pretty at times, but besides that think of the power and wealth you'd amass. The Morebucks are old money and being married into a family like that can guarantee you powerful connections."

“Yes, well, I only went out with her on accident. I was doing as you requested.”

“Hmm, yes, and did you learn anything?” His father says, causally taking a sip of his coffee.

Brick stares at him, trying not to let his confusion show. "Honestly, father, I can't say I quite understand what your fascination is with this Blossom Utonium. All I gathered yesterday is that she's a normal girl—unremarkable, really. Also, rather poor if she has to work as a waitress, which last I checked the poor weren't of your concern."

“Poor no, but the Utoniums have always been a concern of mine. Besides, it’s only been one day. I don’t expect you to learn everything about the girl in one day.”

“That might be true, _father_ , but it would help if you told me what exactly it is you’re looking for.”

His father just stares while taking sips of his coffee. If the scene were taken out of context it would almost seem like an innocent meeting between father and son; just a father catching up with his son whose been away at boarding school for the last six years. But it's not. It's a test. A test of loyalty and Brick is the test taker. Clearly, his father doesn't trust him, not enough to tell him what's going on or why he wants this Blossom girl followed. Worst of all, Brick isn't even sure if this whole thing is real. His father could be sending him on a fool's errand just to prove a point. Waiting to see if Brick is the loyal son he appears to be.

“Did you hear about the Utonium death? The father, I mean.”

“Yes, I’ve heard.”

"Then you know that his eldest, Blossom—as well as his other daughters I imagine—are in mourning. Such a sad state to be in when one is so young. She'll need a friend, someone she can lean on, someone she can _trust_. I want you to be that friend, Brick.”

_Why? Why? Why! Why must he waste his time on this girl? Why is she important? Is she really important?_ All these questions and more spring to Brick's mind, but the test had already started, and his father won't like him asking for help. Therefore, Brick does as is expected of him. "Yes. Of course father. I'll be the best friend that girl ever had."

HIM's snake-like smirk returns, seemingly pleased with himself he relaxes back in his seat. "Good. Remember, if she says anything interesting or worth repeating, you tell me. Got it?"

"Crystal." Brick checks his watch, "I should go. School starts soon." He gets up to leave when his father interrupts him.

“Oh, and Brick, one more thing.”

“Yes, sir?” Brick answers, playing his part of doting, loyal son perfectly.

HIM's snake smile stretches farther, pleased with his son's actions. "Remember, I did say friend. So, don't go falling for the girl. I've heard she's quite the beauty but if you want to sleep with her, you'll just have to restrain yourself."

Brick snorts, "Beauty? More like nervous train wreck. As I said, she's unremarkable."

His father merely cocks an eyebrow and remains silent. With nothing left to say Brick leaves, ignoring Ms. Grey’s hateful eyes as he does.

* * *

Morgan Joseph Joel Jones stares up at the large imposing building with a sense of dread and nervousness.

"Curses…" He mutters. "What is taking him so long?"

In truth, Morgan did not want to be here, no he'd rather be anywhere but here. Preferably a lab, although that dream too went out the window quite a while ago. Instead, he must wait here, like a good lapdog, for his charge to return. The futility of it all was utterly annoying as it was depressing.

The sunlight reflects off the large gold letters on the HIM building, blinding him for a second. "Curses." He mutters again, referring not to the glare but to the man who lives up there in his ivory tower. The man who has made his life a living hell and relegated him— Morgan Joseph Joel Jones a brilliant scientist and mathematician— to nothing more than a glorified babysitter. Morgan rues the day he ever met HIM. Though Morgan is reluctant to admit it in his furious state, he does admit that it is ultimately his own fault that he's stuck in this dead-end job. After all, it was Morgan who sought HIM out in the first place. Of course back then HIM held so much promise. HIM seemed like he was going to change the game, make things different, and Morgan just fresh out of college had so many ideas, all he needed was financial backing. However, instead of the notoriety and riches that Morgan envisioned for himself, he received mockery and disrespect. Now, nearly two decades later, nothing has changed.

Between all his sulking a tall redheaded boy rushes out of the building, clearly in bad spirits, rushes past the patiently waiting Morgan and into the parked black car. Morgan rushes to the other side of the car before the driver takes off without him, knowing full well his young charge would not hesitate to do such a thing, especially when he's in a bad mood. He gets in just as the driver pulls away.

“Cruses.” He mutters as the car jolts him a bit. He puts his seatbelt on, settling him some.

“Hurry. I don’t want to be late.” Brick orders his driver, his usually emotionless voice replaced with an angry whine so typically of children his age.

“I take it the meeting didn’t go well.” Morgan dares to say.

Brick scoffs, "Do you also have a Ph.D. in pointing out the obvious, Morgan?"

Morgan merely rolls his eyes at the pathetic quip. Brick usually comes across as cold, calculating, and pretentious, which to an extant he is, but since Morgan is his caretaker and therefore knows Brick better than anyone else, he knows that the young boy is really no different than any other privileged teenager. Brick can be arrogant, hot-headed, whiny, and overly sensitive at times.

“What isn’t so obvious—to me that is—is what your father told you. Now would be an apt time to share.”

“HIM,” Brick corrects, turning is angry dark glare from the road to the small man at his side, “You mean what HIM told me.”

“Right, of course.”

Brick sighs, “He didn’t tell me anything. Not anything useful at least. To be honest, I think he’s just stringing me along. Keeping me busy with this…Blossom girl, keeping an eye on me. I don’t even know what he plans to do with me. I could have already lost his trust.”

“Patience. He doesn’t know what your…um… _episode_ was about.” Morgan says hesitantly, referring to the incident that got Brick kicked out of boarding school. “He could just think you need better discipline or his version of parental control.”

Brick scoffs, "Right. If that were the case, then the meeting would have gone over very differently. The wall would have been painted red."

“You’re not Butch.” Morgan reassures, “More importantly, you’re his legacy. His expectations for you are different.”

Brick looks back at the short man, confusion written all over his face. “Why are you defending him? You hate HIM as much as I do.”

“Because you’re angry and young, which usually leads to impulsiveness and recklessness. Like I said, patience. You will have your revenge, but you can’t expect to take down a powerful enemy like your fath—like HIM overnight. For now, all you can do is play the part of the perfect son. Do as he says, don’t question, be respectful, be loyal. Once you have proven yourself and once his guard is down that’s when you strike.”

“I’m familiar with the plan.” Brick answers arrogantly, “Perhaps you’re right. I am being too impatient, but after what that _man_ did to me…I can’t wait until he gets what he deserves.”

"Believe me, neither can I."And he really couldn't. Morgan has been dreaming of HIM's downfall since the second HIM dared to laugh in his face and give him his horrible, demeaning nickname, _Jojo_. Of course, all his dreaming was exactly that—dreams, horrid fantasies he indulged in over the years as he was kept away from science to look after a bratty boy. A boy that wasn't even his to begin with. But now after the great injustice that was done to the young Mercer it looked like his plans were finally going to come to fruition. The best part was that it wasn't even Morgan who initially had the idea for revenge.

Brick in the midst of the emotional turmoil his father had caused had come up with the revenge plot. Morgan guided a bit and definitely jumped on board to help. After all, it was he who convinced HIM that bringing Brick home to Townsville was what was best for the " _troubled_ " teen. Morgan suspects HIM knew of what brought on Brick's sudden episode, which is why it was crucial for Brick to build up his trust and reputation with his father. HIM may be playing games with his oldest right now but due time HIM will forget and forgive, and he'll let his favored son back into his good graces again. Like he told Brick, they just had to be patient.

“Turn right here.” Brick orders the driver.

Morgan looks around confused, “Where are we going? I thought you didn’t want to be late for school?”

"A necessary detour." Brick answers, his voice emotionless once more, " You're right. We have to be patient, but we can't let HIM have the upper hand while we twirl our thumbs and do nothing. Stop here." The car stops in front of a giant old-looking building.

“Where are we?” Morgan questions.

“The library. I want you to dig up any dirt that you can find on HIM. It might prove useful in the future.”

“Me? Why don’t you do it?”

“Because I’m busy. I have classes to pass and a girl to stalk. Now get out. You’re making me late.”

Morgan reluctantly exits the car, muttering the whole time. He looks up at the library feeling at a loss. "Where do I even start?" He yells.

Brick rolls down his window, “Start with Utonium.”

“Why—“

Morgan is cut off as Brick rolls his window up and the car speeds away. Morgan turns back around and looks up at the building, the sunlight reflecting off the windows and causing a glare.

“Cruses…”

* * *

Buttercup should be an actress—no, that's lame— she should be a detective or an undercover cop. Yeah, that's way more badass. She feels sort of like a badass right now. Paranoid and stressed, but a badass none-the-less.

It's been a few days since the night at Bob's Burgers. Everyone thought she was bugging a little bit, but over the last few days, she's been able to convince everyone, including Mitch and her sisters, that she is A-okay. Even her coach thinks she's back to normal. Like she said, she should be an actress. Because despite what everyone thinks, she is not at all okay.

She’s is stressed the fuck out.

God, she feels like Blossom. Is this what Blossom feels on the daily? She’s starting to understand why her sister is such a pain in the butt.

Buttercup has been out almost every night looking for that damn car. It’s been hard. Between soccer, work, Mitch, and her sisters, finding a time to sneak out and go looking has not been easy. It would have been so much easier if she could go the police. She considered it at first, now that she knew the car was still in one piece, but well, with no body and no idea about the identity of the dead man she wasn’t sure what more the police could do. Would they even be able to tie the car to the murder? Maybe, but she’s sure she’d have to reveal her identity and testify in court for that to happen.

And she wasn’t going to do that.

It’s been two months since the incident with Blossom and the gangsters and had the police found them? No. Two months and Blossom hadn’t heard a thing. Buttercup isn’t blind. She sees what the not knowing is doing to her sister. She’s even more anxious than normal. Luckily, Blossom works well under pressure. Buttercup, on the other hand, does not. She can’t wait around, hoping that the cops may or may not get the bastards that did this. She’s worried sick thinking about it now. She can’t take feeling that way for the months—years— it could take the police to solve the case.

So that's why Buttercup is going at it alone. It's why she's out in the Rot by herself looking for the fucking car. She figures if she can find the car, she can find the people responsible. Maybe she can even find out the name of the person they ran over. She'll document everything on her phone. Send it to the police anonymously and boom—no more sleepless nights. No more bad guys. Justice is served.

It’s foolproof.

Unfortunately, she hasn't had any luck finding the damn car yet. It doesn't help that it's pitch dark out when she goes looking nor that the car is black and makes it darn near invisible under cover of night. That's why today, Buttercup decided to change her strategy. She needs to search in the daylight. Of course with school that wouldn't be possible, unless, she was able to stay home from school for let's say…being sick.

So yeah, it's the oldest trick in the book, but it's a classic for a reason. It works. The hardest part really would be tricking Blossom into believing she was actually sick. Buttercup decided that faking a cold would be perfect; she could fake being sick for a few days and continue her daytime search. But in order to fake a cold, she would need to have a fever and chills. She'd need to be warm and cold at the same time. Yeah, that should be easy.

What she ended up doing was taking a few hand warmers and tying them around her head. Then she woke up before everyone else—which was extremely difficult, she has no idea how Blossom does that everyday—and took an icy cold shower. It was so cold she had to bite her lip to keep from screaming. The fan was running in her room to make sure she kept shivering for the next 30 minutes. To top it all off, Buttercup even ate half a strawberry. She's not exactly allergic to strawberries, but they make her throat itch. A necessary evil if she was going to pull this whole being sick thing off.

"Buttercup! Let's go we're going to be late!"And there it was, Blossom's 5-minute warning for Buttercup to get up. If she yelled back, her sister would leave her alone, but if she stayed quiet…

_SLAM_

“Buttercup? Are you up?” Her older sister asks, barging into her room as usual. Buttercup should really invest in a lock.

“Uggghhhh…” Buttercup fake moans, “I don’t feel so good.”

Her sister sighs irritably, which was to be expected, “Buttercup if this is some stunt to get out of going to school…”

"Uggghhhh…no, I wanna go. I have practice. I just don't feel…good."

"Right. Like I believe that." Blossom reaches out a hand and places it on Buttercup's head, "I'm sure you're fine—oh, you do feel a little warm, and your face is flushed. How do you feel?"

“I’m cold. And my throat itches.” Buttercup answers, her voice coming out raspier than usual.

“You’re shaking.” Blossom points out as if just noticing. “Maybe we should take you to see the doctor.”

“What? No!” Buttercup yells, startling her sister. “I mean. That’s a waste of time. It’s probably just a cold. I’ll be fine if I sleep it off and there’s cold medicine in the medicine cabinet.”

“Hmmm…I don’t know. I still think we should take you to the hospital.”

"But…but…um…you'll be missing school, and I don't want you to miss school on a count of me. Think of your perfect attendance."

“Well…” Oh! Her sister is so going to cave. “I don’t know. Are you sure you’ll be fine?” 

“Positive. I just need some rest is all.”

Blossom still doesn't look happy with the whole situation. "Ok, if you're sure. But call me if you need anything or if you start to feel worse. Also, make sure you actually get some sleep. I don't want you playing video games all day. Oh, and read the directions on the cold medicine before taking it. I don't want you accidentally taking too much."

“Got it. I will. Now get out of here before you or Bubbles are late.”

Blossom bites her lip in worry before reluctantly leaving her room.

"One last thing." Blossom calls out, "There's leftover food in the fridge, but I'll bring you some hot chicken soup from the diner tonight."

“Ok. Thanks!”

Blossom finally leaves, closing the door after her. Buttercup waits to hear the slam of the front door closing before standing up. She rushes to her window to see her sisters leaving for school. She waits in her room for another fifteen minutes for fear that either of her sisters might come back. Either Blossom to check if she’s really sick (doubtful since it would maker her late for school) or Bubbles because she forgot something (happens too often for a girl at her age).

She leaves soon after that, and that's how she finds herself here in the middle of the Rot in broad daylight. Is it weird that she feels more scared being out here in the day than at night? On the one hand she can see better, which is great for finding mysterious murder cars and spotting people that may want to hurt her (also for taking pictures of said murder cars) but on the other hand, it's easier for other people to see her and that's really unsettling.

She's been cautious though. Making sure she sticks to shaded areas and that she avoids walking by windows or other people. She's not sure if Mitch is still stalking the area and doesn't want him to find out she's still coming out here by herself. She's also avoided going back to the scene of the crime at all costs for fear that someone might recognize her. Not that going back would do her any good; there's no evidence left.

If she's honest, she doesn't really have a plan for finding the car. It's mostly been her wandering around looking for abandoned cars and car lots. She figures that if the people who ran over that man still have the car, then they'd store it in some type of garage. The only problem is that these garages would be well hidden and probably filled with these murderous bad guys. So…

How the fuck was she going to find this car?

God, she's only been out here for a few hours, but she's already starting to feel hopeless. The heat wasn't helping either. It was so damn hot! It wasn't even noon yet. Why is it hotter in the Rot? Is the portal to hell located here? And where the fuck is the car! Ugh! Frustrated by the heat and lack of progress Buttercup kicks over a nearby trashcan. As the plastic bin falls to the floor a pair of spiders fall, out crawling around widely over the pile of trash on the floor. Buttercup screams bloody murder and backs away as far she can before her back hits a parked car. Unfortunately, her yell has gathered the attention of some people.

“Yo, you heard dat?”

“Yeah…what you think it is?’’

“Think someone is getting jacked?”

“Dog, I don’t know but let’s check it out.”

Buttercup hears the group approaching, and she crouches down and hides behind the car. She can see a group of feet walking past her.

“I thought I heard it come from over here.”

“Nah, there’s nothing here. It must be over there.”

The feet keep walking past her until they round a corner and are eventually gone. Buttercup sighs in relief and leans back against the car. That's when she notices the car at her side is a total junk of a car—rusted paint job, broken windows, flat tires—probably still functional to someone if it hasn't been reduced to a pile of spare parts by now.

_Shame_. Buttercup thinks. It's a vintage Volkswagen. Those parts are rare to find.

And like a light bulb turning on, something clicks. Vintage parts. Vintage parts are hard to find. Duh! It's so obvious. The car she's looking for is vintage therefore it needs vintage car parts, and there's only one place in town you're guaranteed to find vintage spare parts. Well, it's really the only place you can find vintage spare parts for _free_ , so it's a long shot, but for the first time, she actually has some clue about where those bastards could be hiding, and she's going for it.

She gets up with renewed energy, running towards her destination. It takes her longer to get there than she expected, having gotten lost wandering around the Rot. Finally, she reaches the entrance of Mulligans, an old car dealership from the 60's. It wasn't a successful business, and it was doomed to fail due to its location. It's a little hidden, and it cradles the line between the Rot and Downtown. When the dealership eventually closed down a lot of abandoned cars were left on its lot, and it eventually became a junkyard. The junkyard too eventually closed down due to its small size and a larger one was opened up in another part of the Rot.

At Mitchelson's Garage and Spare Parts they usually get their spare parts from the abandoned cars around the garage or from the large junkyard in the Rot. Buttercup, however, prefers Mulligans, not only because it’s closer to the garage but because it’s a treasure trove of rare parts.

She walks in pass the gate, which has been left unlocked. Odd. Buttercup usually has to squeeze through the gate because it's locked at all hours. That means someone picked the lock and if her hunch is correct that someone could be the bastards she's looking for. She walks around the scraps of metal on the floor, careful to not make a sound. It's hard as there are car parts on literally every inch of this place. As she walks through the junkyard looking for the murder car she spots a patch of dirty entirely clear of any metal. As she walks closer she notices that it's two identical patches of dirty that look exactly like…

"Tire marks." She whispers. She follows the path until just a few feet away from her she spots the car. The CAR. The murder car. "Holy shit!" She found it; she can't believe she actually found it. _Oh, my God. This is amazing! This is also fucking scaring! She should so be a detective!_ "Get a grip." She mutters to herself before taking a deep breath of air. She takes out her phone and starts taking pictures of the car parked in front of her. Then she stills, pausing to see if someone with a gun is going to come out of the dark and shoot her for knowing too much. After a minute of that not happening, Buttercup thinks it safe to further investigate.

"Damn." She whistles. She normally doesn't associate beauty with cars, but that's exactly what this car is—a beauty. It's a 1970's black Dodge Charger. The paint could use a few touch ups, and the rims are a bit outdated but other than that it really is an impressive car. As she gets closer, taking pictures all the while, she notices the license plate which reads BRZERKR.

“Brzerkr? Berserk?” _Strange_ , and she doesn't mean the odd vanity plate, she means the fact that the car didn't have any license plates before. Bravely, she peers inside the car through the darkened windows, but can't make out anything inside. She steps away and goes to the front of the car to inspect it. As expected there isn't a single dent or scrape on the hood of the car. No evidence to point to a hit and run. She takes a picture regardless. She then looks under the car, hoping to find something. She doesn't see anything but takes a picture anyway. Because it's dark under the car the flash goes off and that's when she sees it, it's small and easy to miss, but she's sure she knows what it is.

“Hair…”

"What the fuck are you doing?" A booming voice startles her causing her to bang her head on the underside of the car and fall flat on her ass. She looks up, temporally blinded by the sun to see a shadow of a tall, hulking man standing over her. She clears her vision as fast she can, all the while slowly dragging herself backward and away from this behemoth. Just as her vision clears, she looks up to see that it's not a man staring down at her but a boy, a mammoth of a boy, but a boy nonetheless. He leans forward, close enough that Buttercup can see the green of his eyes and holy fuck does he look pissed.

“I said what the _fuck_ do you think you’re doing?” He growls.

Shit.

She is so dead.

 

****

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s Note!   
> I was suppose to post this on Sunday…darn am I bad at deadlines. Anyway, yeah! I had so much fun writing this chapter especially Brick’s parts. He’s going to be an interesting character to write. Anyway, not much to say other than I hope you guys like the chapter. Now we’re really getting this plot going! Also, thank you to everyone that read and gave Kudos! U guys are awesome! 
> 
> Reviewer Acknowledgments: 
> 
> sweetsiren: That is exactly how I wanted to describe the city: a cesspool of depravity. So I'm glad you picked up on that. It's like all this horrible shit and at the center are these three innocent girls. And of course Boomer will be the cinnamon roll we all know and love! Like it's impossible for Boomer to be any other way. And I'm glad you like the story so far!


	6. Chapter 6

“Who the fuck are you? Hey! I asked you a question! Are you deaf or something? Who sent you?”

The green-eyed monster of a boy continues to yell are her, but all Buttercup can hear is her rapid heartbeat and the word _SHIT_ repeated over and over in her head.

_SHIT. SHIT. SHIT!_

The boy suddenly stops his yelling, switching tactics to simply glaring at her. His eyebrow twitches, although it’s hard to tell if it was intentional or not. This boy seems a bit _unhinged_ , to say the least, which really does not do her any good. One wrong move and this guy could easily snap her neck.

“Um…I…uh…” Buttercup stutters. _Shit_! She can’t believe she didn’t have a lie ready for this exact situation. _AUGH_! What the hell was she thinking!

The boy’s eyebrow twitches higher in confusion—or irritation, she imagines. He doesn’t have soft features, everything from his thick neck, prominent brows, and square jaw are sharp and dangerous-looking, but in a split second his mean features relax into something, not quite soft, but definitely less _murdery_ than before. He looks her up and down, his brow still up in confusion. She doesn’t appreciate the ogling, but now that this _bull_ is no longer seeing red, she’s able to calm down enough to come up with a plan to get herself out of this mess.

“You’re not who I think you are, are ya’?” He questions, his voice is gruff and mocking. Considering the situation, Buttercup should feel relieved, but instead, she feels annoyed and insulted. Of course, this guy wouldn't see her as a threat. She's half his size in both height and body weight. She’s no threat to him. _Pfft_ , if only he knew.

“Depends. Who do you think I am?” Buttercup bits back, trying to sound as intimidating as him.

The boy snorts and rolls his eyes, her “mean” voice having no effect on him. “What the hell are you even doing here?” The boy asks, crossing his arms. “Are you lost?” He asks with a smirk.

“No.” Buttercup hisses, annoyed. “I was looking for parts. I didn’t know the car belonged to anyone.” She lies. “This _is_ a junkyard, you know." 

“Car parts?” His brows hitch higher in surprise. “What a girl like you want with car parts?”

_A girl like me? What the hell is that suppose to mean?_

"None of your business." Buttercup spits, finally getting up from the ground. "Whatever, I'm leaving."

She says, ready to get the hell out of doge.

"Whoa, _bonita_ , you're wrong. It is my business." He says, grabbing her arm before she can bolt.

“What the hell! Let go of me!” Buttercup yells, trying not to seem scared, except his grip is very _very_ strong.

“Not until you give me that phone.”

“What do you want with my phone?” Buttercup clutches her phone to her chest.

“You took photos of _my_ car. I need you to get rid of them. I'm hiding out, and I can't let anyone know I was here." 

“How do you know I won’t tell anyone?” _Fuck_ , she probably shouldn’t have said that. _Stupid_! Take Blossom’s advice for _once_ , and _think_ before you speak! Your fucking life depends on it!

His grip tightens. Buttercup tries not to wince, biting her lip to keep from yelling out. “You better not.” He threatens. He looks intensely into her eyes before looking away to roam her face. She’s not sure what he sees, but it’s uncomfortable either way. “You don’t even know who I am, do you?” He snorts.

_The fuck I do,_ she thinks. _I know exactly who you are. You’re the asshole who killed that innocent man. And I’m taking you down._

Buttercup is not too proud to admit that she's fucking scared right now. More scared than she’s ever been. She thinks she’s doing a good job of masking some of that fear, and even though she really _really_ wants to be anywhere but here right now, she's not giving up that phone. Those photos are the only evidence she has and she's not giving them up. 

“Give me the phone.” He demands.

“Let go of my arm first.”

“Not. Gonna. Happen.” He growls.

"Fine," Buttercup says, sounding suspiciously calm. "I'll erase the pictures and you can check my phone afterward."

“Then I’ll let go.” He agrees.

Buttercup pulls out her phone and presses a few buttons. Then in a literal flash of genius, she points her phone right in the boy's face and takes a picture. The flash she purposely turned on her phone momentarily blinds the boy making him yell out and let go of her arm.

She bolts the second he lets go. Instead of heading to the main gate, she sprints straight ahead, right for the fence. She reaches the fence and starts climbing. Just when she's reached the top, she looks down to see the very large and very angry boy having caught up with her. She jumps, not bothering to climb down. She's not even a street away when the boy has already jumped the fence.

“Get the fuck back here!” He yells, chasing after her.

_FUCK. FUCK. FUCK!_

She kicks it up a notch, running at the speed she usually reserves for track competitions. She turns down some random streets and alleyways, trying to lose him.

It doesn't take long before she's lost all sight of him. Still, she can't be too careful. She stops by a dark alleyway, taking another detour, and runs up to an old abandoned-looking building. She climbs up the fire escape heading to the roof. Once she's reached the roof, she crouches down and looks over the ledge. In the distance, she sees the boy still running after her. He looks around, lost, irritated, and looking as angry as a charging bull. He turns down the wrong street and is gone from sight.

Buttercup lets out a sigh of relief. 

The guy is strong she'll give him that, but Buttercup has yet to find someone that is faster than her. She lies down, flat against the roof to keep hidden from view. She takes a deep breath, trying to calm herself and her racing heart.The sun above her is harsh and scorching against her skin. Despite the discomfort, Buttercup will have to bear it. She doesn't want to risk running into that angry psycho again, so she's going to camp out on this rooftop for a while. Lucky for her, her sisters have things to do after school, so no one will know that she isn't home.

_God,_ is she spent. She feels like that night in the Rot, when she made the impossible jump. She felt scared shitless. She thought she was going to die but man… that feeling, that _rush_ —that’s worth the weakness and nausea she felt after. It was even worth Mitch being upset at her. She knows it’s a little odd, maybe even a little crazy, but there’s something about the danger—about thinking that you’re going to die that just makes you feel so… _alive_. Alive in a way that's even more surreal and exciting than any game or competition. Nothing beats that rush.

She didn’t think she’d ever feel that way again. But now… _fuck_ was that _awesome_! Crazy, stupid, dangerous but oh so fucking cool! She feels so pumped right now. Though, as she lays here, the sun baking her face, the rooftop hot against her back and the dry, hot air making it harder to breathe, the adrenaline slowly starts to slip out of her system making her muscles ache. Her body is hot and cold at the same time, clammy and shaky. She wants to throw up. She wants to scream.

_Still_ …

She stares at her phone. She looks at the picture she took of the murderous boy. His eyes are big and opened wide in shock. He looks innocent then, not like the hulking man she was afraid was going to kill her in cold blood. This angry bull that chased her down five blocks. _Damn_ , it’s so stupid what she did, confronting him—alone. She’s never been more scared. Still, as she stares at his photo, thinking about the incredibly stupid and dangerous (yet fucking AWESOME) thing she just did—thinking about the hard grip he had on her arm and the bruise he left— there’s only one thing she feels like doing.

She laughs.

* * *

 

The Central Prep students don't come in anymore. It should be a great relief, and it is—for the most part. There is still one student that comes in regularly and while he may not be her least favorite customer (Princess holds that title), he is still one of Blossom's least favorite people. He is a Mercer, after all.

“You know if you keep making that face, it’ll stay that way.”

Blossom rolls her eyes at Darcy in a rare show of teenage defiance. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Oh, really? So you’re not glaring daggers at an innocent customer?”

“Innocent? I think not.” Blossom snorts, also rare for her. 

“Yeah? And what he’d do to you?” Darcy asks, irritated.

“What do you mean?”

"I mean, that boy has been coming in here for the past two weeks and each time you've given him the stink eye. Clearly, you don't like him, and I'd like to know why—what he'd do to you?"

"It's nothing personal. I mean he's never done anything to me. I don't even know him. I just don't trust him is all; besides, don't you think it's odd that's he's been coming in here every day for the last two weeks?"

"I swear, girl, that distaste of yours for local diners is going to get you fired. I thought we were passed the uppity attitude."

"I didn't mean it like that," Blossom explains. "I just don't get it." She huffs, "It's suspicious." She wipes down the table in harsh circles all the while continuing to glare at the redhead.

Darcy hums, “So that’s it, is it?”

Blossom stops her wiping, “What?”

"You don't understand something and that's what's got your panties all in a twist."

"Don't be ridiculous, Darcy. That's not it. I told you. I don't trust him."

“The only reason you don’t trust him is because you don’t know him. His only sin is having the last name Mercer.”

"Be that as it may, the name Mercer inherently has a lot of sins attached to it. " Blossom mumbles under her breath.

“Look, I only say this because you’re stressed out enough as it is, but you should really let go of any ill will you have towards that boy. It’s not like he’s even spoken to you.”

It's true, the Mercer boy, has come in nearly every day for the past two weeks and each time he's conveniently avoided sitting in any of her tables. Although suspicious, Blossom is quite grateful. The less interaction she has with him, the better. She has enough on her plate without adding conversing with criminals. Though she doubts he's ever been convicted of anything, it doesn't make him any less morally depraved.

“I hope it stays that way.”

Darcy merely huffs before walking away to tend to her tables. "Actin' like he didn't do you a favor…getting that prissy girl off ya'…been a perfect gentleman…the nerve…"

Blossom continues to angrily wipe down the counter all the while staring violently at the back of Brick's head. One good act doesn't change her opinion of Brick in the slightest. For all she knows, Brick is interested in Princess and was just waiting for the most opportune time to talk to her. Him stepping in right before Princess hit her could have had an ulterior motive. Besides, Darcy wouldn't be so quick to stand up for the boy if she knew what Blossom knew. Then the older woman would understand her distrust for the redheaded Mercer.

_“Blossom, sweetie, I need you to pay great attention to me right now.”_

_“But I always pay attention, daddy.”_

_"I know that Cherry Pie, I know you listen. I know you're a smart girl and more importantly, I know that you're a good girl, a really good girl, which is why I'm telling you this. If there's one thing I can teach you—"_

_“You teach me lots of things, daddy.”_

_“I know, but I don’t care if you forget all the other things I said. If you can only remember one lesson, let it be this—Never, I mean never, trust a Mercer—NEVER.”_

The bell dings bringing Blossom’s attention away from dark thoughts and far away memories. A tall blond man walks in, his face instantly recognizable to Blossom. 

“Michael?” She calls out in surprise.

A tall man in uniform turns around, startled at first before recognition clicks. "Blossom? It is Blossom, right?"

“Yes.” Blossom blushes, “I should be saying officer.”

Officer Wings waves her off, “No need to be so formal. Call me Mikey.”

“Okay…Mikey. Um, can I get you anything?”

“Uh, that depends,” He says, walking over and taking a seat at the counter, “You work here?”

Blossom’s cheeks redden, “Yes, as unlikely as that may seem, I do, but it is only temporary. I’m just trying to save some money for school.”

"I get it. Nothing to be ashamed of. I used to man the register in my Uncle's store back when I lived in Chicago, got to put food on the table somehow, you know? Anyway, I think it shows great character and responsibility, especially for someone so young. Most kids I know just want a part-time job so they can buy a new video game or something. So, that means you're a senior, right? Saving money for college, I'm guessing."

“Thanks.” Blossom beams. “No, I’m a junior, but it’s never too early to plan ahead.”

“Smart.” The officer smiles back and picks up a nearby menu. “So what’s good here?”

“To be honest, everything. Louie—he’s the cook—let’s me leave with a few free dishes sometimes after work, so I’ve tried nearly everything on the menu. Haven’t yet eaten something that didn’t taste good.”

"That's good to hear, might have to make this my regular lunch spot. Since I'm still on duty, I'll just have a club sandwich and coffee—black."

“Coming right up.”

Blossom places the officer's order and grabs a fresh pot of freshly brewed coffee. As she pours Mikey his coffee, she can't help but bite her lip, worrying over to use the opportune time to bother the friendly cop, or just ignore it and let him enjoy his meal.

“Seems like you got something on your mind? I’ve got a penny if you’re willing to share.”

“It’s nothing, well, it’s…”Blossom sighs, “I don’t know if it’s appropriate to ask, really.”

“Go ahead and ask, I’ll let you know.”

Blossom leans in and lowers her voice, “Have you heard anything?…I mean about that night, you know. Any new information?”

Mikey sighs, “I was afraid you were gonna ask that. Unfortunately, I really can’t discuss police proceedings with civilians.”

“Can’t say I’m surprised by your answer. But aren’t there exceptions? I mean, I am a witness.”

“You are also a minor. If your Aunt was here, then maybe, but I can’t. My hands are tied. Sorry.”

“Club sandwich!” Louie yells out, taping the bell.

Blossom sighs “I understand. Thanks anyway.” She serves Mikey his sandwich, “Enjoy.”

Mikey nods his head in both sympathy and thanks. "Don't worry Blossom; I promise I'll catch the scumbags that did this. You count on that."

Blossom gives him a half smile, before walking away to tend to her tables. She doesn't know what she expected. Okay, no, she knew exactly what she expected, and that was for justice to prevail so she could go back to feeling like she lived in a safe city.

Not that she wasn't aware of the growing crime problem in her hometown before, but it never occurred to her how severe the problem was until it happened to her. Now, it's all she can think of, on top of the other hundreds of things she has to worry about.

What if it were one of her sisters that night? What if they were the ones getting mugged? It could have been so much worse for them. Buttercup, so reckless, would have fought back or said something that made everything worse. She could have been beaten to within an inch of her life, her teeth bashed in, her ribs broken. What if no one was around to help? What would happen to Buttercup? And what about Bubbles? Sweet and innocent Bubbles. She’s so pretty. She shudders to think what those gangsters would have done to her.

She fears for her safety but more so for the safety of her sisters. Blossom may have an analytical way of looking at things, but it honestly never occurred to her that catching the bad guys would be so difficult. She was _there_ that night, she _saw_ them. They were so close. How could they not be behind bars right now? What could be taking the police so long? 

She’s just finishing cleaning a table, lost in thought, when a hand reaches out and grabs her arm, startling her. 

“Ow! What… What are you doing? Let—”

"May I have a refill?" The redheaded Mercer, Brick, asks. His tone sharp and neutral.

"No need to break my arm for a glass of ice tea. You should ask Darcy; she is _your_ waitress.” Blossom hisses, breaking away from his cold grip.

"Apologizes if I startled you. It's not my fault you were daydreaming on the job."

“I wasn’t—”

“ _Secondly_ , Darcy isn’t here and I’m quite parched, so if you wouldn’t mind…” He says holding up his empty glass.

"She must be taking her break." She mumbles. Brick looks at her expectantly, not caring to hear a reason only waiting for her to fulfill his request. Blossom groans, unpleased and pissed off, but does as asked. He is a customer after all. She'll be damned if she lets him be the reason she gets fired. She returns with a pitcher of ice tea and starts pouring when she's suddenly interrupted by his arrogant voice once more.

“Are you aware of the freedom of information act?”

Blossom is momentarily stunned by the odd question, “Uh…”

“It gives people the right to request information from federal, state and local agencies, like for instance the police.”

Blossom frowns, angered by the implication that she wouldn't know what that is and the obvious reference to her conversation with Officer Michael. "I'm aware of the freedom of information act, there are exceptions, however, especially given my age, and, _secondly_ ,” she says, mimicking his words from earlier, “I don’t appreciate you eavesdropping on my conversations.”

"You look like you needed the help, is all." He says in a condescending voice, throwing a glance at her shaking hands.

“Well, I don’t. Especially not from you.”

Brick merely hums as she walks away, trying to stop the shaking in her hands. It’s not a panic attack, that guy just makes her so… _Augh_! What an arrogant…so condescending…he’s just so…and who is he to…I mean the nerve! Whoa, Blossom, breath! It’s okay. He’s not even worth it. Think calming thoughts.

“You okay?” Mikey asks, “You look like you’re about to knock someone’s block off.”

Blossom huffs, “I’m fine. Just a rude custo—”

"Hello, allow me to introduce myself. My name is Rick." Speak of the devil, and he shall appear. The redheaded Mercer introduces himself, shaking hands with Mikey and giving her a knowing glance, to which Blossom can only reciprocate with a dumbfounded look. What the hell does he think he's doing?

"I'm the senior editor of our newspaper, THS Gazette." The redhead goes on to explain, only confusing Blossom further.

"Our?" Mikey questions, looking between _Rick_ and herself, “THS Gazette?”

“The Townsville high school newspaper. Blossom and I are both members. She was telling me about this interesting crime story, one you’re well aware of, but of course, being the senior editor, I can’t print anything without evidence, which is why I wanted to speak with you personally.”

“I didn’t know you were writing a story about this? Is your aunt okay with that?” Mikey asks her. 

Blossom can only look on in confused horror, her mouth handing ridiculously open. "Uhh…no, this…he's…"

"Her aunt wasn't okay with it at first, but Blossom is a firm believer in the truth and stories like these are important for not only notifying the younger public of the dangers of this city, but also informing them on how to better protect themselves. We were planning on doing a whole segment on safety to go along with the article."

“Hey! That’s good journalism, seems like something I’d enjoy reading, but, unfortunately, as I’ve already told Blossom, I’m not at liberty to share any case details, sorry.”

“I’m aware. Blossom was just telling me that. Right, Blossom?”He says, giving her cheeky grin.

Blossom glares at him, “I didn—”

“Right.” Brick states, “Anyway, that’s why I’m invoking the freedom of information act.”

“Smart kid.” Mikey grins, “Media uses that on us all the times, but I still can’t tell you anything. You are minors and without an adult present I can’t—”

"I'm eighteen, actually." Brick states, "So, there is a legal adult present. Besides, I know I as well as Blossom are dying to know more." Brick gives her a pointed look.

Blossom continues to glare at him. This is her chance, to denounce everything he’s saying. Brick is giving her a chance to tell the truth that this whole thing is just some crazy lie he came up with for _God knows why_. But she hesitates. She doesn’t agree with what Brick is doing, doesn’t want or need his deranged idea of help, but…she has to know.

_Has_ to know.

It’s been two months, three weeks, and four days since the incident and she has learned _nothing_ about the progress of this case. She knows the police are busy with other cases, but it's been two months, three weeks, and four days! That's nearly three months! Why hasn't there been any new developments? How hard is it to catch these guys? They are a notorious gang; surely there are other charges on them, shouldn't that be enough to bring them in? 

She can't take it anymore. Waiting around and trying to pretend this doesn't bother her is not working. She thinks about it constantly and at the most inopportune times. While she works, during a test, whiles she's studying— when she's doing laundry! Her focus and energy are already divided as is; she can't afford to have _this_ weighing on her. She just can’t!

Her frown disappears as she shifts her gaze from Brick to Officer Michael. “It’s true. I—we, would really appreciate _any_ information you can give us. Please.” She pleads in a soft voice.

Officer Michael looks between the two, before wiping his mouth with a piece of napkin. He lowers his voice, “Alright. But if anyone asks, you didn’t hear anything from me. Got it?”

Both redheads nod.

"The sad truth is the case has been ruled a dead end. Not officially, mind you, but police involvement and resources for this particular case have been allocated elsewhere. I guess you can say the investigation has been shelved—for the time being. Although, most guys on the force have already ruled it away. That's what happens with cases like this. It's just seen as another gang-related incident. At best, we can jail a few members for a time, at worst, no one comes forward, or identities are protected."

Blossom sighs, disappointed, “Really? Why? There were plenty of witnesses and the evidence is obvious.” She states referring to both herself and the injured victim.

"Are the perpetrator's identity what's stalling the investigation?" Brick asks, staying in character as an investigative reporter.

The officer scoffs, "Please, their identities are the least of my worries. Maybe with other, bigger, gangs, that's an issue, but the Gang Green Gang are pretty notorious and membership is exclusive. We know exactly who these guys are."

“Gang Green Gang?” Brick asks surprised.

“Yeah, didn’t Blossom tell you that?”

“Yes, she did. I guess, I just didn’t believe her. I needed confirmation.” Brick lies smoothly.

"I don't understand, if you know who they are, then why haven't you gone after them? Are they underground or something? Are they in hiding?" Blossom asks, a hint of nervousness and agitation in her voice.

"We can't pursue without cause, and unfortunately you didn't get a good enough look at them. My captain has ruled against pursuing this case with such weak witness testimonials."

“But what about the man? Jack...Martin, wasn't it? Isn't his testimonial enough?"

Officer Michael gives her a weird look, confused. “What?”

"You know, Jack Martin, that's his name, right? The man had front row seat to the men that assaulted him. I’m sure his word is more than enough to convict.”

“Yes, I know who he is, but—don’t you know?”

“Know what?”

"When he woke up we went to speak with him, but he stated that he didn't remember anything. The doctors said he was hurt pretty bad, so memory loss was expected. We gave him the descriptions you provided, but ultimately he decided not to press charges on the count of his lack of recall.Didn't your aunt tell you this?"

“My Aunt? Why would she know about this?”

"Oh boy," Mikey mumbles, "Okay…" he says awkwardly, standing up, "I think, I've officially over shared. You need to talk to your aunt." He says pointing at Blossom. "And you." He says pointing at Brick, "Be careful what you print. I was never here." He places a few bills on the counter and strides out the diner quicker than Blossom can put her thoughts together, leaving her with more questions that she initially had.

Her aunt? Why would her aunt know anything about this? Officer Michael, was pretty adamant that any information be shared in the presence of an adult. Maybe he had already mentioned this to her aunt. But that doesn't make sense. Her aunt hadn't said anything, and she certainly didn't act like she knew about any of this. Maybe Mikey is confused. Aunt Bellum won't lie about this. Would she?

“It’s not a strange notion, you know.” Brick states.

"What?"

"For those closest to you to lie. If you're debating whether your aunt could lie about this to you, then let me save you the trouble because she could and she would. In all likely hood, she already has."

"You don't know anything about my family and frankly, I don't care to hear any more of your unsolicited advice."

Brick’s normally neutral features are distorted by a frown before quickly becoming emotionless once more. “I assumed the appropriate response to someone helping you out was to give thanks. Instead of this nasty attitude.”

“Well, you know what they say about people who assume. Now, if there isn’t anything else I can do for you, I’m going to back to work.”

She turns around and walks away, busying herself with wiping down tables. She doesn't turn back around until she hears retreating footsteps and the ding of the door. She steps back behind the counter and spots the cash he left on the counter alongside a note.

_Make an ass out of_ **_U_ ** _and_ **_Me_ ** _. It’s a two-way street._

Blossom crumples up the note in frustration. As if she didn't have enough things to worry and stress over, this asinine rich kid finds it a great waste of her time to play mind games on her. Now on top all the questions she has over the case and her aunt, she's going to be losing precious sleep trying to figure out just what the hell this Brick guy wants from her.

Actually, now that she thinks about it, why did he help her out? Again. And how did he even know which school she went to? Arugh! If she hadn't been so hasty to ignore him, she could have grilled him for answers. She'll just have to wait until tomorrow, she supposes, to get answers out of him. Not that the idea of talking to him makes her feel any better.

_“Never, I mean never, trust a Mercer—NEVER.”_

_Sigh,_ Could her life get any more difficult? 

 

* * *

 

 

“Hi, Blossom! You’re home early.” Greets Bubbles, cheerfully.

“Yeah,” Blossom answers in greeting, taking off her cardigan and placing it near the front entrance. “I’ve decided to cut back some hours at the diner. I don’t want my grades to start slipping. Oh—hi. Sorry, I didn’t see you there.” Blossom says to the petite girl sitting next to her little sister.

“I get that a lot. Perils of being small, I guess. Name’s Julie. Julie Smith.”

“Julie Smith.” Blossom mumbles “That sounds familiar.”

“That doesn’t surprise me.”

“Blossom, Julie is in some of your AP classes. History and Chemistry, right?”

“Yeah. I’m in Calculus too, just not in the same class.”

“Sure. I recognize you now. Hi. Um, I’ll just let you get to it then.” Blossom says, referring to all the books and materials spread out between the two blonds.

"Actually, I was about to leave," Julie says, closing her notebook.

“You’re free to stay.” Blossom insists. “Don’t leave on my account.”

"No, it's cool. I know your aunt is coming over and as much as I love Bubbles family dinners are not my thing."

“Aunt Bellum is coming over?” Blossom asks with panic.

“Yup.” Bubbles nods her head. “She called me just before you came. She should be here in a few minutes.”

"Which is why I must go. I'll see you later Bubs."

"Bye Julie." Bubbles waves as her little blond friend walks out the front door. "Isn't she great! I can't believe we've never spoken to her before. Did you know she lives just across the street? Like, how have we not noticed her? I get why _I_ may have never spoken to her seeing as she’s so smart and in all the advanced classes and in none of my classes, but you should have known better.” Bubbles teases.“Hey, now that you guys have been properly introduced you can start hanging out. She can even be like your study buddy. Wouldn’t that be great!”

Blossom looks out the front window on the lookout for her aunt's car. She passively listens to Bubbles chatter when she sees that her sister is, in fact, right, Julie Smith happens to live just across from them, which is weird because she always thought an elderly widow use to live there. How out of touch is she that she didn't realize new neighbors had moved in? Before she can ponder that line of thought further her aunt's headlights catch her attention as the older woman pulls into the driveway.

Blossom lets out a groan.

"What's wrong, Blossom?" Bubbles asks innocently tilting her head to the side. "You don't like Julie?"

"Oh no. She seems nice. I just wasn't expecting Aunt Bellum tonight."

Bubbles frowns slightly, “Are you mad at her or something?”

Blossom lets out a sigh, “No.” _Yes._ “I just don’t like last minute plans is all. I wanted to get some studying done and maybe a load of laundry.”

Bubbles hugs her from behind, laying her head on her should, “Oh, cheer up, cherry pie! One little night away from studying is not gonna hurt your grades—you’re way too smart for that.” She taps Blossom’s head, “Besides, we’ve got enough clean clothes. We should be good for another week, or I could do the laundry if you want. I promise I won’t mix the colors and whites this time.” 

Blossom lets out a small chuckle, “That’s a nice offer Bubbles, but unnecessary. I just want some clean uniforms for work. But I guess you’re right, maybe, one night without studying won’t be the end of the world.”

"Well, hell just froze over. I don't think I've ever heard you say that."Mutters a messy-haired Buttercup as she descends the stairs, clearly having just woken up from a nap. "Did you finally take a chill pill?"

“Did you finally decide to get a watch? I don’t remember the last time I saw you home this early.”

"Ha. Ha. Don't get used to it, I still plan on having a social life." Buttercup retorts, crossing her arms. "Soccer practice kicked my butt today, though and I seriously needed to crash."

Before Blossom can reply their aunt walks in, caring two pizza boxes in one arm and soda in the other.

“Hey girls! So nice of you all to greet me. Help an old lady out, would you?”

Bubbles eagerly takes the pizza, "Isn't this great! We're all going to be eating together. It feels like forever since we've done this." She cheers as she skips ahead to the kitchen.

“I’m glad to see someone is in such a chipper mood. Hope you girls are just as happy to see me.”

"As long as one of those pizzas isn't veggie and has some meat on it, I'm good."

“I’ll just take that as an I’m so happy to see you too, Auntie.”

“Yeah, ok.” Buttercup jokes.

"Blossom, you're awfully quiet. Aren't you glad to see me?" Bellum jokes, trying to get an equally playful reaction from her, but Blossom is not in the mood. How can she be when her aunt might be lying to her? To her face! What kind of person could do that? Not that she has solid proof or anything, but it's still a possibility. Her aunt could be lying to her right now. How can Sara even look her in the eye straight-faced after she's lied to her? How can she pretend that everything is okay? Blossom avoids her gaze, "I'm fine. Just tired, I just got home from work."

Bellum’s smile drops, “Okay. I understand, um… will you be joining us for dinner?”

Blossom nods her head, still not looking at her, “I just have to change first. You guys go on ahead.”

Her aunt nods and goes into the kitchen. Blossom turns away, planning to head to her room and get out of her uniform. She catches Buttercup’s eye as she walks away. The brunette giving her a questioning look, but Buttercup doesn’t ask, so Blossom leaves without having to come up with another reassuring lie.

Up in her room, she changes into her comfortable lounge clothes. To be honest, her gut reaction to what Officer Michael told her at the diner was to explain it all away as a simple misunderstanding. Her aunt wouldn't purposely keep something from her, at least she thinks she wouldn't. She tries not to think about it, really she does, but as much as she doesn't want to consider it, she can't keep Brick's words from entering her mind.

_"Those closest to you lie. If you're debating whether your aunt could lie about this to you, then let me save you the trouble because she could and she would. In all likely hood, she already has."_

Blossom bites her lip as she puts her hair up in a messy bun. When she's done, she paces her room pondering whether Brick—of all people—could be right. Her aunt is a good person, but even good people lie. Blossom's done it, only white lies, of course, to keep from hurting someone's feelings or to be polite. As heinous as it is to believe, maybe her aunt did lie and perhaps she did it to protect her niece, a misguided notion but one with well intentions. It still doesn't make it right, to lie about something so serious, especially when her aunt knows how tense she's been over the whole thing.

Her fingers start dancing on her lips mid-pace, she almost bites down on a nail before she realizes what's she doing. Nail biting is a horrible habit, and it took her years to quit. She takes a deep breath, preparing to confront her aunt with all this. She doesn't need another thing weighing on her. It's best to get all this out in the open. Clear the air, before she jumps to conclusions and starts thinking the worst. She heads to the kitchen in a hurry, mentally prepped for a long conversation, but when she gets there and hears laughter, she stops.

“Hey!” Bubbles grins, “You finally joined us, yay! We saved you some pizza.” 

“Maybe some of that grass pizza. I’m planning on eating this here Meat Lover’s all to myself.” Buttercup takes a giant bite out of her slice.

“Sit, Blossom. You must be hungry.” Her aunt says in a gentle voice.

Blossom complies, all the while losing her nerve.

“Here.” Bubbles places a plate with two pizzas in front of her, “I saved you a veggie and a meat lover’s slice. Don’t let Buttercup see.” She winks.

Blossom takes a tentative bite as the conversation resumes around her. It's a conversation of little importance and varying topics, but the mood is light and comforting, the conversation flowing with ease.

It wasn't too long ago that dinners were an awkward and painful affair. It's not exactly like it once was, and it probably never will be, but this is _nice_. It may only be six months since their father's passing, much too soon to have healed completely, but perhaps the start of the new school year has given her family a sense of new beginnings. A new sense of hope.

Blossom eats her slice in silence, enjoying the company around her. She eyes her aunt, who looks enthralled by whatever Bubbles is saying. She still feels uneasy around her aunt. If Bellum is lying, then that just makes her causal behavior now all the more disturbing. Of course, she shouldn't really put stock into what Brick said. He comes from a corrupt family; he's probably used to lying and betrayal.

Her aunt couldn't do something like that to her; she couldn't. A nagging feeling sits in the back of her throat, like an itch she can't scratch. She should probably talk to Bellum about what Officer Michael said, regardless of what her feelings are, but, Blossom decides, this is neither the time nor place. There are so few days like these and a loaded conversation like the one she was prepared to have can shatter the rare tentative peace present tonight. She doesn't want to ruin it.

Bellum notices the staring and turns her attention to Blossom. “Something on your mind, Blossom?”

“No.” Blossom smiles, “This is just…really good pizza. What about you? Anything on your mind?” She asks casually.

Bellum smiles, "Nope, nothing on my mind except for the fear that this pizza is going straight to my hips. I’m glad you like it, but don't fill up. I got us ice cream for dessert."

“Oh! Did you get birthday cake?” Bubbles squeals.

“Please tell me you got mint chocolate chip!” Buttercup asks.

"Don't worry; I got a pint of everyone's favorite."

The camaraderie continues well into the night; ending with ice cream around the TV. It's one of those rare nights where everyone is home and everyone is in a good mood. Her aunt even decides to stay the night, which provides a great comfort to Bubbles, who often feels it's unsafe for three girls to be living on their own. Blossom heads to bed that night feeling more at peace than ever before and yet at the same time feeling more uneasy than ever before.

_"Those closest to you lie. If you're debating whether your aunt could lie about this to you, then let me save you the trouble because she could and she would. In all likely hood, she already has."_

_“Never, I mean never, trust a Mercer—NEVER.”_

_"Don't worry Blossom; I promise I'll catch the scumbags that did this. You count on that."_

_"Nope, nothing on my mind except for the fear that this pizza is going straight to my hips."_

She struggles to fall asleep, tossing and turning, words going through her head. Just as sleep finally starts to claim her, a thought occurs. Her father, her aunt, Officer Michael, and Brick—someone is lying to her. And she has no idea who it is.

* * *

 

Bubbles starts her day off with a smile and a literal skip in her step. The last few days have been great. She was finally catching up to the rest of the girls on the team, Robin and she were hanging out again, Julie was awesome, her sisters weren't fighting as much, and the cherry on top was last night's dinner. She had felt miles from lonely last night and the good feeling carried over to today.

"One of those zippity-do-da days," She sings, brushing her hair into her signature pigtails.

She bounds downstairs to see her two most favorite redheads sitting around the kitchen table. A hot cup of coffee in her aunt’s hands and a cold bowl of cereal in her sister’s hands.

“Aunt Sarah made us breakfast.” Blossom says, raising a spoonful of cereal in the air, “Eat it while it’s still hot.”

Sarah laughs, "Okay, so my culinary skills aren't exactly expansive, but I mean breakfast is breakfast, right? And who says you can't get all essential nutrients and vitamins from a box of Cheerios."

Bubbles sits down, taking a spoonful of cereal. "Tastes great to me. I give it two thumbs up."

“Thanks. The trick is to put the cereal in before the milk.”

“Great advice, I’ll make sure to write that down.” Blossom jokes sarcastically. 

Sarah laughs. "Hey, it's getting kind of late," She looks at her wristwatch. "Shouldn't Buttercup be down by now?"

Blossom and Bubbles share a look. “We should give her a few more minutes.” Bubbles argues, “She’s probably just getting up. She doesn’t take long to get ready.” She reassures Sarah.

“But she’s not going to have enough time to eat breakfast.” Sarah protests.

"She doesn't normally have breakfast," Blossom tells their aunt. "I don't know, Bubbles. Aunt Sarah is right; it's getting late. I think I should wake her up. I'll be right back. " Blossom gets up before Bubbles can say anything else.

Bubbles continues to happily munch on her breakfast as Auntie Sarah watches Blossom's retreating form, once out of sight the older woman sets her eyes on the young blond.

“So,” She starts expectantly.

“So?” Bubbles questions.

“Sooooo…seeing any cute boys?”

Bubbles gasps mid-chew causing her to cough. “Wh—what?”

“Oh, you don’t have to play innocent with me. I remember what it’s like to be young, come on, there must be someone you’re interested in.”

“You’re still young, Auntie Sarah—and no, I am definitely not interested in anyone. What about you? Seeing anyone tall, dark, and handsome?"

"At my age? I think not. And I find that hard to believe. At the very least you must have many secret admirers.”

"As many as you probably," Bubbles jokes. Bubbles isn't a vain person, and while she'd go as far as calling herself cute, she's nowhere near as beautiful as her aunt. Apart from her physical beauty, she's also a confident and intelligent woman, and on more than one occasion she's heard her friends call her sexy. Bubbles would be lucky to grow up looking half as beautiful. She wouldn't be surprised if her aunt has dozens of secret admirers.

“I don’t know whether you’re joking or not, but I’m sure you have at least one boy wrapped around your finger.”

“I doubt it.” Bubbles mumbles. Recalling a bad memory from the day before.

“What’s wrong, Bubbles?”

Bubbles tugs on a pigtail, unsure whether to answer. She hears yelling from upstairs and estimates she has at least a few minutes before her sisters are down. She’d rather they not hear what she has to say.

“Do you…um, I mean…Have you ever heard of the term ‘damaged goods’?”

Sara frowns, “You mean like in shopping or in…Bubbles, did someone say something to you?”

Bubbles shakes her “No, it’s not about me. Not really. It’s just… a friend of my mentioned it the other day,”

_"I still can't believe Boomer is your chem partner," Ciara states, her back facing Bubbles as she and the rest of the cheer squad stretch._

_"I can't believe he's in your art class," Kitty adds in a bored tone._

_"Like are you lucky or what?" Kristen gushes._

_"What? No way, sitting next to that train wreck is definitely not lucky," Kim says with distaste._

_"What! No way! He's hot, and it doesn't hurt that he's rich." Kristen argues._

_"Crazy rules out hot, every time. Wise words to live by, Bubbles, unless you want to end up murdered." Kim chides._

_"I don't know Boomer very well, but I don't think he'd go as far as murder." Bubbles argues weekly, not that she's overly fond of Boomer, but it seems unfair to talk about him behind his back._

_“I agree.” Hums Kitty, “That boy is clearly damaged goods.”_

_“Damaged goods?” Bubbles questions. “What do you mean?”_

_“Well, he may not be a murderer—not that we know of, anyway—but that boy has issues. Baggage. And it’s not worth your time to invest in a boy like that.”_

_"But what about the money? He's rich, isn't that worth her time?" Kristen asks._

_Bubbles winces, discreetly hiding her face with her hair so that they don’t see her reaction. She thinks it tackless to even think about dating someone just for their money. What a cruel thing to do._

_"Please. Boomer isn't rich. His dad is. See, that's one of his issues. He is the discarded son, well, second discarded. Everyone knows Mercer has three sons, one that went to jail, one that goes to private school, and then there's Boomer, who goes to public school. Face it; he's the forgotten son. He's not going to see a dime of that money. I wouldn't be surprised if his father kicked him out when he turns 18."_

_“His parents wouldn’t do that, would they?” Bubbles asks, a hint of worry in her voice._

_"Yeah? I mean, he's not just a Mercer. He's also a Strong. Rich socialites never abandoned one of their own." Ciara comments._

_"That boy is anything but a socialite. Walking around like he's trying to blend into the walls. He's not a Strong and barely a Mercer. I doubt his grandparents would even take him in. I heard they cut off all ties when their daughter married HIM. And well, now not even his mother is in the picture. She's probably dead."_

_“What.” Bubbles stops her stretching, “She’s dead? How do you know?”_

_"I don't know for sure, but no one has seen her in years. She used to be all over the news and on covers of magazines but then one day—zip, nada. It's like she disappeared off the face of the planet. She probably isn't dead, since I'm sure they would have had like a city-wide funeral. My theory is that she ran away. Just packed her bags and left. She's probably somewhere in Europe right now, sunbathing. Ugh, I so wish I was rich."_

_“You are rich.” Her friends remind her._

_“Not Mercer or Strong rich. Whatever.” Kitty waves them off._

_“Poor Boomer.” Bubbles whispers, “That’s awful.”_

_Kitty hums, "Like I said, damaged goods. He has too many issues. Alright well, that's enough talk, everyone up! We're doing laps!"_

_While everyone starts running, Bubbles lags behind, the conversation weighing on her. She feels terrible now, for judging Boomer so harshly. Not that she thinks him any less dangerous, but now that she understands that there is a reason behind his behavior and the rumors, she sympathizes with him.She understands what it's like not to have a mom. She understands the feeling of wanting to disappear, of wanting to blend into the walls. At least she has her sisters; though if she didn't have them, would she be just as screwed up as Boomer?_

_“Bubbles! Keep up!” Kitty yells._

_Bubbles shakes away her thoughts, shelving the conversation away in her mind._

She hadn't thought about it since, but then her aunty brought up boys and her true feelings about yesterday's conversation came bubbling to the surface.

She sympathized with Boomer so much, understood how he could be feeling. He was damaged goods because his father didn't pay him any attention, his mother left him, and he was apparently penniless. Bad things yes, but a least his parents were still alive. Bubbles never even knew her mother, and now her father was dead. They were struggling now to get by, to pay the bills. Technically, she is a poor orphan.

So did that mean…she was damaged goods?

It hurts to think, but it makes sense. She was a train wreck after her father died, antisocial and depressed. She walked away from the team, her friends, even broke up with her boyfriend at the time. She still hasn't even spoken with Mike since. And the girls are still weird around her. She’s better now, not quite whole, but perhaps she never will be. Maybe she’s just…damaged goods.

“I don’t know.” Bubbles says, “It made me think.”

“Bubbles, whatever your friend said, it’s not true.” Her aunt reaches out and grabs her hand, squeezing it.

Bubbles shrugs, “I guess…” She wants to ask. Ask her aunty if her dead parents make her damaged goods. If everyone will only ever see her as _baggage_ , as a sad cautionary tale. If anyone will ever look at her again and not feel pity or awkwardness around her. Will boys avoid her? Not want to invest in her? Will no one want her again? She looks her aunt in the eye, gathering the courage to ask when loud footsteps ruin their quiet moment.

"If you made it a habit to wake up on time, I wouldn't have to barge into your room!"

“I was up on time! You’re the one that walked in while I was changing!”

"I wouldn't have barged in if you had answered when I knocked!"

“I was changing! I didn’t hear you! Don’t act like this isn’t your fault, you’re the one ignoring my privacy. How would you like it if I barged into to your room?”

“Don’t go in my room!”

“Girls!” Their aunt yells, walking away from Bubbles. “It is way too early for you two to be fighting.”

“But!” Her sisters yell in unison.

"No buts! Now, makeup."

Both her older sisters give Sara an ‘are-you-kidding-me’ look.

“I mean it. You’ll walk to school unless I hear some sorrys.”

Blossom, being the bigger person, apologizes first. “Sorry. I’ll make sure to respect your privacy from now on.”

Buttercup rolls her eyes, "It's whatever…and me too." Buttercup doesn't actually say sorry, but apologies aren't her strong suit, a fact her sisters and Aunt Sara are aware of, so while Buttercup's apology might have sounded insincere, both Sara and Blossom let it slide understanding it's the best apology Buttercup can muster up.

“Right then. If everyone’s ready, let’s go.”

The car ride to school is tense and not because of her sisters' argument this morning. It seems everyone has something on their mind, making the car ride exceptionally quiet and pensive. Bubbles would have been worried if she wasn't so caught up in her thoughts.

“Be goods, girls!” Their aunt yells as they make their way to class.

Here sisters walk ahead of her towards their meeting spot with Robin. You'd think that with Robin being their next door neighbor they'd walk, or drive, to school together, but Robin tutors in the morning. She used to tutor after school with Blossom, but now her afternoons are busy with computer club.

“Hey, I’m gonna head to class. Tell Robin I’ll see her later.”

“Oh, are you alright?” Blossom questions.

"Yeah, I just need to ask Mr. Savino something before class. See ya' later." She walks away before her sisters can spot her lie. She isn't the best at it; her face always gives her away.

As she guessed, she arrives to class before anyone else, even before Mr. Savino. She wants to clear her head before the start of the school day and figured an empty classroom would be a quiet place to do so.

Bubbles is very aware that she's the emotional one in the family and while she's not ashamed of that, her very headstrong sisters don't understand. Especially when she needs a moment to just…collect herself.

She lets all her emotions rise to the top, takes a deep breath, holds it for a minute, allowing herself to feel every little thing—joy for her new friend Julie, gratefulness for her sisters and Aunt Sara, sadness for the loss of her dad, despair over being damaged goods, pity…for Boomer—then she lets it all go. On breath in and a final one out. Her shoulders sag down. It's taxing carrying all those emotions around with her. Sometimes she just needs a moment to get herself together.

She usually feels much better after doing that, but a new nagging emotion clings to her. Guilt. She feels guilty for pitying Boomer. That's exactly what she doesn't want people to feel about her and yet, here she is pitying a boy she doesn't even really know. Talk about being a hypocrite.

The first bell rings.

A few students start to arrive to class. Bubbles turns her head down, not wanting to see either Boomer or the Triple Ks walk in. Just as the second bells rings, she feels a weight settled down next to her. She automatically tenses. Bubbles can't believe her reaction. One second she's pitting the boy and the next she's afraid of him. It can't be both ways! She's either afraid of him, or she feels sorry for him. Although, neither feeling is great.

She peaks at Boomer from the corner of her eye. His head is down, forever doodling in his notebook. His hoodie is up and Bubbles wonders if he has his headphones in. It must be nice walking around without a care for what anybody thinks of you.

She tugs on a pigtail. The strange part is that everyone thinks that Boomer is this big, bad, thug, but he doesn't go around acting like it. He doesn't say more than three words to her at any given time, and that's usually only when he has to speak.

In truth, Boomer reminds her more of a turtle. He has a hard outer shell but a soft gooey center, so delicate that he only peeks his head out once in a while afraid that some big bad meanie is going to stomp on him. Ha! The mental image is so ridiculous that she can't help but giggle. _I mean, Boomer, a turtle?_ A gooey, soft center? As if she knows anything about him to make that assumption. But still, it is sort of silly. Okay, really silly. 

A flash of blond catches her attention. She turns her head to see Boomer looking at her, hoodie down, a confused look on his face. Bubbles looks away, blushing like crazy. _Great, maybe he thinks I’m laughing at him._ Way to get on the guy’s good side.

“I’m not laughing at you.” She blurts out. Unsure of why she did that. Make she’s still thinking of turtle Boomer and how his delicate feelings would be hurt if he thought someone was laughing at him, or maybe she doesn’t want thug Boomer to be mad at her. Both seem like good reasons for explaining herself.

Boomer’s confused look doesn’t change.

"See, I was thinking of something funny. A turtle, not that I think turtles are funny, actually I find them really cute, but I thought of like these words like gooey and meanie, which now that I say it out loud sounds like something a five-year-old would say, but yeah, anyway all together it just made this really funny image and I couldn't help but laugh. I know it doesn't sound funny, but if you saw it, you would understand. Not that you could cause, duh, you can't read my mind or anything…"

Boomer continues to look at her as if she’s crazy.

“But I swear I was not laughing at you.”

Boomer opens his mouth in response but is silenced by Mr. Savino, who has just walked in. The two blonds stay quite, eyes averted from one another as Mr. Savino takes roll. The next fifteen minutes of homeroom are the longest of Bubble's life. It's so awkward. They haven't said more than two sentences to each other in the last two weeks of being chem partners, and now here she is, basically giving him a speech. Way to spazz out Bubbles.

"Alright, homeroom is over, take out your Chemistry books and turn them to chapter 3. We're going to be covering—" the phone rings, interrupting Mr. Savino. "Hold on." He says as he reaches for the phone.

Light chatter springs up around the class as Mr. Savino’s back it turned.

Bubbles takes a deep breath. It’s now or never.

“Um…” She starts uncertain of how to get Boomer’s attention. Lucky for her, he heard her. He turns his gaze to her. His stare intense and silent as ever.

"Um…Hi. I think we might have gotten off on the wrong foot. Not that we just met or anything, but I mean, we are partners, and we really don't talk to one another, and then I really didn't want you to think I was laughing at you—"

“It’s fine. I didn’t think you were. So don’t worry, I’m not gonna put a hit on you or anything.” He says quickly then turns back around.

Bubbles is confused at first. A hit? What did he mean by that? Then it occurs to her; he probably thinks she's scared that she upset him. Boomer is clearly aware of his reputation at school. While that may have been the reason for her apology initially, during those long fifteen minutes, Bubbles realized that she can't handle going a whole semester feeling this tense and unsure around Boomer, especially when he's never done anything to her. And, she also wants to prove Kitty and her friends wrong. Boomer, damaged goods or not, deserves to be treated just like everybody else. That's how she'd want to be treated.

“Oh! No, that’s not…I just think it’s mean to laugh at people. No that I was laughing at you…”

Boomer doesn’t turn back around.

"Look," Bubbles sighs, "You don't have to like me or anything, but at the very least you're an acquaintance, and I always say hi to people I know. So…hi, good morning. That's all I wanted to say and if you feel like greeting me too then that would be great! Because even if you don't like me, we're Chem partners and art class…mates, classmates. So yeah…"

A few tense seconds pass before Boomer finally faces her again. Bubbles gives him a weak smile, trying to appear friendly.

“Why?” he says.

“Why, what?”

“Why are you being nice?”

“Shouldn’t everyone be nice?”

Before he can answer, Mr. Savino ends his call, gathering everyone's attention once more. The blonds remain quiet for the rest of class. When the bell rings, Bubbles has given up hope that Boomer will accept her olive branch. Just as she's walking out of class, Boomer walks past her, whispering something only she can hear.

“Morning.”

He's gone before she can respond. It's a simple greeting, just one word, but the impact is far greater, and for the rest of the day Bubbles has a big goofy smile on her face.

* * *

 

Blossom is usually the first in class and the last to leave. She likes to make sure she has all her notes written down and all her stuff in order before leaving. She’s walking out the door when she spots Bubble’s friends from last night.

“Julie?” She calls out. “It is Julie, right?”

The petite blond turns around, surprised. “Oh. Yeah. Hey Blossom, this is a surprise.”

“Seeing me? Bubbles did mention we were in the same class.”

“Yeah, I know. I was the one that told her. I guess I didn’t expect you to say hi.”

“What? Why not?”

“You’ve never said it before.” Noticing Blossom’s confused expression, Julie continues, “You don’t remember me, do you?”

“Um, no, sorry. Have we met before?” Blossom asks, taken aback.

"Yeah, I moved here last year. Was behind on some subjects and you were tutoring me after school."

“Oh. Now that you mention it, I do remember. You were behind in history if I’m not mistaken. I’m awfully sorry, Julie. I should have recognized you.”

Julie shrugs, "It's alright. I was hurt at first, but then I realized you're like that with everyone."

“What do you mean?”

"Well, not to sound harsh or anything, but you pretty much ignore everyone that isn't a teacher, your sisters, or that Robin girl. Not that it's a bad thing. I use to think you were conceited but Bubbles explained that you just have a lot going on. Straight A student, tutor, volunteer, and now working girl. It’s a lot. Hey, this is my class. I’ll see ya’ later.”

"Bye," Blossom mumbles distractedly.

She isn't conceited, is she? She supposes she can be too in her head sometimes. As Julie said, she has a lot of things going on, but she never thought it would affect her behavior and certainly not towards other people.

Truth be told, she always saw herself as the shy, nerdy girl. Not that she believes in high school labels, personally, but if people were going to judge her, that would be her identifier, right? Besides, she doesn't know enough people to go around saying hi to. She's not Bubbles, nor Buttercup, she doesn't have many friends. 

She reaches her class before the final bell. Having lagged behind talking to Julie and stewing over her thoughts, she isn't the first in class. Luckily, her seat is available. She hurries inside, pushing away Julie's words. So what if people think she's conceited, or that she's some nerdy loner. She doesn't have time to worry about what people think of her. She's much too busy.

* * *

 

It's been two weeks since Buttercup ran into that green-eyed bull and nothing exciting has happened since then. Even worse, she still has the photos she took.

The plan was to send the pictures to the police with an anonymous letter explaining the whole thing. That's still the plan, only she can't bring herself to do it. Don't get her wrong; it's not like she's scared or anything, in fact, every time she thinks about dropping off those pictures she starts to feel disappointed. She went through so much to get those photos and handing them over seems a little…anticlimactic.

Whatever. Maybe she just doesn't trust the police. Whose to say they'd do anything with the information she hands over. They certainly haven't helped Blossom. Then again, looking over the pictures on her phone, she can't say this is enough information to incriminate anybody. It's a car and a boy. That's it.

The picture of the hair she found underneath the car isn't even visible. Damn, she should have bagged it or something. Then there's the dead guy. She still didn't know who the guy was. You can't have a murder case without a body.

_Ugh_! This is so frustrating! Maybe she should do some more investigating. She doesn't even know the green-eyed guy's name! Not that she's overly excited about seeing him again—okay, maybe a small sick part of her is secretly excited, but, hey, if she beat him once before whose to say she can't take him on again. _Pfft_ , that guy wasn’t so tough.

“Yo! You playing candy crush or something.” Craig yells out, throwing a bread roll at her face.

"Right. Scared I'll beat your record?" Buttercup retorts, pocketing her phone and tossing the bread roll back at him.

“Please, like I’d ever play that stupid game.”

“I’m on level 95.” Stevie shares. 

“Well, congratulations. That’s time you’ll never get back.” Craig responds.

“Hey, _Fresa_ ,” Jenni calls out to her, “You’ve seen Mitch?”

"Not since yesterday. Isn't he at home sick?" Buttercup assumed that is where Mitch was when she didn't see him sitting at their usual lunch table. She would have asked about him, but the guys always make a big deal whenever she brings him up, and she didn't want them teasing her.

“Na, he’s here, but he was acting mad strange this morning.”

"Tweaking," Stevie adds.

“Maybe he’s high.” Lauren says, “It wouldn’t be the first time he’s shown up to school stoned.”

“Hey, BC, Mitch don’t smoke around you, does he?”Craig asks.

She shakes her head, "No. I know he smokes though, doesn't bother me." She knows this group isn't particularly shy about drinking and doing drugs, which extends to Mitch as well, but for some reason, Mitch has never smoked or even drank when around her. She told him she doesn't mind, because she doesn't, not really. She's not into drinking or smoking herself and would never do it, but she's not anybody's mother. They can do whatever the hell they like. Lauren and Craig share a look at her words. Both of them grinning ear to ear. _What that’s all about?_

“If he was high, he’d be here. It’s the only place with free food.” Jenni states. “Whatever. If you see him Buttercup, maybe you can remind him that we’re his friends and to stop being all weird around us. Ugh, I gotta go. I’ll see you losers later.” She leaves, not waiting for an answer. Buttercup is stunned and doesn’t respond before Jenni leaves the table.

"I know what you're thinking, but beneath her bad attitude Jenni really does care," Lauren tells her.

“Yeah, and beneath that is more bitch.” Craig laughs.

“Craig!” Lauren scolds him, hitting him. “Don’t be an ass.”

"Funny." Buttercup agrees, "I'll catch you guys later. I gotta get something from my locker." Her locker is on the east side of campus, complete opposite direction from her next class. She doesn't really need anything from her locker, but since the gang mentioned something wrong with Mitch she hopes that he's either hanging around her locker or dropped a note. That's what he did the first few days of school when she was still freaked about the incident and ignoring him.

She arrives at her locker to find Mitch trying to slip a piece of paper inside. "If you want to talk, I'm here. No need for secrecy." He jumps around, surprised. His eyes are wide and red. Man, maybe Lauren is right, he is high. "Dude, you high right now?" She whispers, looking around to make sure no one heard.

“No! Why does everyone keep asking me that?”

“Have you seen yourself? Your eyes are completely bloodshot.”

“I didn’t get much sleep last night,” He says rubbing his neck. “Actually, that’s why I’m here.” He looks around then pulls her to a secluded hallway.

“Mitch, what the hell? Jenni said you were acting weird, but what—”

“Did you see the news last night?”

“What?”

“Did you see the news last night?” He asks again, his tone more panicked.

“No. I don’t watch the news. Mitch, what’s gotten into you? Why are you so freaked?”

“Man. Oh man. Fuck. Fuck!” He mumbles, leaning his head against the wall.

“Mitch…” She places her hand on his shoulder, feeling it tense underneath her palm, “What happened? What’s wrong?”

Mitch sighs, “I think it’s better if you see it for yourself.” He pulls out his phone and hands it over, a video loaded for her to watch.

_"In other news, a startling new development has just come out of City Hall. City attorney Jeremy Kenny has been reported missing. According to co-workers and family, Jeremy Kenny failed to show up to work following a three week long work trip to Citiesville. His wife, Marie Kenny, reported him missing. We go live for a statement. Linda."_

_The news cuts to an Asian lady standing outside a big, lavish house. A family of three stands behind the reporter. “Thank you, Kate. I’m here outside the Kenny household, joined by his wife and two younger children. Mrs. Kenny, when did you suspect your husband was missing?”_

_"He usually checks in after returning from his work trips. I didn't think any of it at the time when he didn't call; I assumed he was late for work or had to check in before coming home. Then it got later and later, and he never came home. I called city hall, to check if he was there but they said he never made it into work. I called, but his phone was out of service. I decided to give it another day, thinking maybe he got caught up in Citiesville, but…but…he…he never came home." She sobs, doubling over._

_"I'm very sorry," Linda says, patting the older woman on the back. "According to Police Chief Martin Bennett, all resources have been allocated to finding your husband."_

_The woman continues to cry, “Please! If anyone has seen him, come forward! Please!”_

_The video cuts back to the news anchor, Kate. "Alright, well as you can see. His family is very distraught over his disappearance. We urge any citizen with information over the whereabouts of Jeremy Kenny to come forward. Here is a current photo of Mr. Kenny and underneath is a number you can call with information."_

The man's picture appears on the screen. Buttercup gasps. Holy shit! Jeremy Kenny, age 48, grey hair, clean face, pot-bellied…

“This is…”

“Yeah,” Mitch whispers, “He’s the man they ran over that night…in the Rot.”

Buttercup can only gape at him. The video continues to play on, but she pays little attention to it, trying to wrap her head around this new information. 

_"This unfortunate news comes following the horrible incident to fellow city council member, Jack Martin, who was a victim of a brutal beating just a few months ago. He is said to have recovered and will soon…"_

“Oh my God! Mitch! Do you know what this means?”

“Shhh! Not so loud.”

“Mitch! We have to go to the police!”

Mitch groans, “I was afraid you were going to say that.”

"What? Mitch, there's no reason not to go. You heard them; the whole city is looking for this guy."

“Yeah, because they think he’s missing.”

“Right, but we know better!”

"Buttercup, remember what I said? This wasn't an accident. I mean, hell, I thought that guy got into it with some loan sharks. At best, it was a drunk hit n' run, and at worse, I thought maybe they had some bone to pick with the guy, but Buttercup, don't you see? This guy was part of the city council. He was the GOD DAMN attorney! This goes a lot deeper than I thought. This is serious Buttercup!"

“That doesn’t change anything! If anything, it gives us more reason to go to the police.”

Mitch groans again, leaning his head against the wall, “I shouldn’t have shown you that video.”

“Well, if you didn’t want to do anything about it then why did you?”

"It would have gotten out eventually; I thought it would be best if you heard it from me. ‘Sides, as you can see I'm not exactly handling the news well." He sighs, "Buttercup this is bad. Really, really bad. If we go to the police now—if anyone saw us—we could end up in some serious shit. We…we could end dead."

Buttercup feels sick. Only moments before was she toying with the idea of comforting that son of a bitch once more. She can't believe she thought she could take him. It was one thing when she thought he was a common thug, but Mitch is right, this is a lot more serious than she initially thought.

City attorney, FUCK, that's a big target—a real VIP. If that bull could kill him and cover up all his tracks, then she's dealing with a pro. A real psychopath. Still, there is the anonymous letter option. Although, that might not be the best option. He's seen her face. He might not know who she is, but if she's the reason he ends up behind bars, there's no telling what lengths he'd go to to get back at her. She's got her sisters to think about, her aunt, Mitch.

FUCK. FUCK. FUCK!

“Buttercup? You okay? You look like you’re about to throw up.”

“I’m good. Just…I guess it’s finally hitting me. You know even if we don’t go to the police, we’re already in deep shit. We’re gonna have to live with this for the rest of our lives.”

“At least we’ll be alive.”

The bell rings. Students slowly start to flood the hallways.

“You have practice today?” Mitch asks

She nods her head, “Yeah.”

"Can we meet up after? I think we should talk. Decide what we should do. "

“Yeah. Okay. Wanna meet up at the shop?”

Mitch nods, “I’ll see you later and, Buttercup, not to sound lame or anything but if I had to go through this with anyone I’m glad it’s you. You’re one cool chick.”

Buttercup smiles, a small, fragile smile. Were it any other situation; Buttercup would have been incredibly flattered by Mitch's words. But sweet words don't exactly fix the clusterfuck they found themselves in, still, it's Mitch, so it does count for something. "Thanks. I'm glad it's you too."

The second bells rings, making Buttercup late for class, but she stays planted in her spot watching Mitch walk away, dreading what they'll decide to do later on.

* * *

 

Practice kicked her ass today. It wasn't the first time that's happened. With all this murder shit going on her focus has been less than great during practice. She knows she has more important—literal life or death—stuff going on, but if she keeps sucking like this then her rep is going to take a serious downturn. She's the best player on the team, but she feels that title slowly slipping out of her hands.

Whatever. Now is not the time to be worrying over this. Her rep can wait, at least until after she and Mitch decide what to do. Man, she really wants to go to the police but since that green-eyed asshole knows what she looks like it could put Mitch and her family in danger.

She regrets trying to handle the situation alone; now she's in more trouble than before. Mitch doesn't know she fucked up and went behind his back, so if he doesn't want to go to the cops, then she's gonna have to respect that. It'll eat away at her for the rest of her life, but at least Mitch and her sisters will be safe. She'll be safe.

“I love a girl in shorts.” A deep, gruff voice states from behind, making her freeze in her tracks. “Not that I’m a leg man, but a little skin never hurt.”

Buttercup doesn't have a chance to turn around, jump away, or even to bolt out of there when a powerful grip pulls her back. She feels herself crash into something solid and hard, his grip digging into her skin. His breath hot and slimy on the side of her face.

“ _Hola_ , _bonita_. I’ve been looking all over for you. We need to talk.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s Note
> 
> MERRY CHRISTMAS!!!
> 
> And to those that don’t celebrate Christmas—HAPPY HOLIDAYS!!! This is my gift to all of you. I hope you enjoyed it! I did not want to finish off the year without updating my active fics at least one last time.  
>  So yeah, we got all three girl’s POVs in this chapter. I hope you guys are liking it. I have a bunch of different plotlines that I want to include, some are just beginning and some are just starting to get good (i.e. Buttercup’s) and still some that I have yet to write, so bear with me. I’m writing as fast as I can.
> 
> Reviewer Acknowledgments
> 
> sweetsiren: That was just Femme Fatal’s delusions. HIM is a sadist regardless of sex, gender, race, etc. For now HIM has a flamboyant, rich businessman style about him, but there is a point way further along in the story were the cross dressing will probably come into play. Also, as an extra christmas gift for being such a nice reviewer, Mojo won’t be human forever. That’s all I’m gonna say about that.  I hope you enjoyed this chapter! Look forward to reading your thoughts on it! 
> 
> One last thing I want to THANK everyone for hitting that kudos/bookmark button!  
> Alright guys! Until next time! Happy New Years! Happy Holidays! Merry Christmas! 


	7. Chapter 7

_Two weeks ago..._

Butch runs around for at least another four hours, blindly turning down corners and alleyways. He's sure that at one point he was just running around in circles. Fuck was this chick fast, and fucking sly too! No way she was part of Ace's gang. She was too good. That means HIM sent her.

FUCK!

He thought he'd been careful. Guess that proved what he thought all along. HIM is watching. Probably has been since he got out of Juvie. If he weren't so pissed him off, he'd be flattered. If HIM was watching, then he thought Butch a threat. Good.

That motherfucker was gonna get his. It was only a matter of time.

But FUCK! It took him five fucking years to get his ass back to Townsville and five days for his plans to blow up in his face. Who the fuck was that chick anyway? She looked young, probably still in high school or  _should_  be in high school. It was no secret that HIM employed high school dropouts. Rebellious little runaways with no options and willing to do whatever it takes to get by and if that meant working for HIM—killing for HIM—then that was what it took.

Butch goes back to the junkyard once he gives up his search, gets a few parts he may need, and gets the hell out before anyone can find him. It's not an easy task, finding a new hideout. How the hell is he suppose to hide a car in the fucking Rot? If he isn't careful his ride would most likely get stripped or stolen, or worse.

Butch doesn't have many options. Most of the old guys he used to roll with aren't around anymore, either dead or in prison, and then there are traitors like Ace and the gang that can't be trusted. No place to hide and nobody to trust.

Fun _-fucking-_ tasic!

Butch growls in frustration. Fuck. With no other options, Butch had not choice but to see Jerome. He'd had been avoiding this. Five years and a stint in juvie wasn't enough time to help Butch swallow his pride; truthfully, when they dragged his ass away in handcuffs all those years ago, he'd thought he'd said goodbye to this place for good.

Didn't think he'd have to come back and own up to the shit that he did.

It's dark by the time Butch reaches Jerome's place. A little sinkhole of a place on the outskirts of town. One of the reasons no gives a flying fuck about the Rot is because it's a section of the city that's technically already on the outskirts of the entire city. You can get anywhere in the town without having to drive through the Rot, so it's easy to ignore. Like a tumor that grows on the side of your face. If you turn just right, you can pretend it's not even there.

Butch's headlights light up the dark, shabby house including the open garage where a short, dark man stands over the hood of a car. The man looks at him for a split-second then goes back to working on his car.

_Damn, knew he wasn't going to make this easy._

He shuts off his car and gets out. He stands before the man, waiting to see if he's welcomed or not. A few tense moments pass, and when no guns or punches are pulled, Butch decides it's safe to continue.

"Jerome."

"Trisket."

Butch can't help but smirk, "Fuck you." He says in a friendly tone. If it were anybody else calling him Trisket, Butch would have broken their nose, and maybe a few other bones. Trisket was never a name— _slur_ —that he enjoyed hearing, especially because it was his father, HIM, that gave it to him as a kid. But Jerome took it back, made it an affectionate nickname and not a word that was meant to hurt Butch. That's what Jerome does; he fixes things.

"You're much tanner than last time I saw you, whitey."

Butch laughs, "California sun did me some good, I guess. Don't even get me started on the babes."

"I bet." Jerome grunts and shuts the hood of his car. "So you're back."

"I'm back."

"As much as I'm enjoying this lively conversation we're having, can't say I'm all too excited to see you."

"Look, about what happened—"

"Ain't about that. You should've never come back."

Butch frowns, "Why not? I got every right to be here. Townsville's my home."

"So, what? Planning on taking your old man down?" Jerome huffs, "Cuz if so then like I said, you should've never come back."

"Don't think I can do it?" Butch snarls.

"I'd check you're tone with me, boy. Who the fuck you think you're talking to? If it's revenge you're looking for, then I suggest you drive the fuck out of here. I'm not messing with all that."

"That's not why I'm here." Butch fidgets, trying to keep his rising anger in check. "I'm not looking to involve you in this; I just need a place to crash and fix up my ride."

Jerome looks over Butch's shoulder, "You racing again?"

Butch shrugs, "Need to make money somehow. So, you gonna help out or what? Do I need to beg for forgiveness first?"

"Not that I wouldn't enjoy seeing you on your knees—"

"I'm flattered, but I don't swing that way," Butch snorts.

"But not that it would mean anything if you're back here about to do what I think you're about to do."

"It's not—"

Jerome puts his hand up, "Shut it. I don't need to know. We'll work on your ride in the morning. Get your ass inside while the pizza still hot."

"They deliver pizza out here?" Butch asks as they walk inside.

Jerome snorts, "Right, who in their right mind would deliver to the Rot? It's DiGiorno."

Butch hides it as he takes a bite of pizza, his first real meal in days, but he's relieved that Jerome took him in. Sleeping in his car was getting cramped. And man was he starved.

"So you got your old ride back, I see." Jerome states.

"Yup got old  _knight rider_  back. I've had a few other rides over the years, but she's my favorite."

Jerome hums, "And you don't think it's weird that you found your old car in one piece?"

"Pfft, everyone knew that was  _my_  car. They'd be crazy to take it."

"You don't think it's strange that your father didn't have it towed to the junkyard or cut up into a million pieces, really?"

Butch smirks, "That's 'cuz I hid it before the feds got me. Only person who knew where it was is Ace, and even if he is a backstabbing piece of shit, he wouldn't have told HIM about it, not if he wanted to keep the 50K I hind inside the backseat for himself."

Jerome chokes mid-bite, "Holy shit! You had 50K hiding in that thing. What the fuck? Did you forget that I helped you fix that thing when it was just a piece of trash? What the shit!"

"Whoa, calm down. I didn't tell you 'cuz I didn't want to get you involved. Ace would have probably shot you if he knew you knew."

"I can handle punks like Ace."

"Yeah, but not when they're on HIM's leash. Doesn't matter anyway. The money is long gone."

"Damn."

"Same." Butch grunts, shoveling his third slice into his mouth.

"So where you've been hiding?"

"LA mostly."

"No. I mean, here. In Townsville. Where you've been?"

Butch pauses, "I just got back."

Jerome snorts, "Right. Like I believe that. I may not be involved in all that shit anymore, but I keep my ear to the ground. Ace and his buddies have been expecting you for weeks. Just the other day I heard they knew you was back. Frankly, I'm surprised I didn't see you sooner. "

"Fuck." Butch spits, "I knew it was HIM."

"Knew HIM what?"

"I was hiding out at the old Mulligans place. Thought I was safe too 'till I was made. By a fucking girl too!"

Jerome frowns, "A girl? One of HIM's spies you think?"

"It's gotta be. I don't think she's part of Ace's crew. She wasn't wearing a bandana, no piercings, no gun on her neither or she would have used it. Looked clean, a bit skinny, definitely a runaway. Must be new too, she looked scared as shit."

Jerome hums, "I don't know. If Ace was expecting you, then HIM would have already known you was here. What would be the point of sending a spy?"

Butch pauses, taken aback. Now that he thinks about it, Jerome is right; it doesn't make sense. "Huh."

Jerome laughs, "So you just got owned by some random little girl? Man, have you lost your touch."

"No! I went easy on her, maybe a little too easy. But I'm telling you, man, she's hiding something. She came in all detective-like taking pictures and looking around my car like she's seen it before. Then when I asked her what the hell she was doing she, get this, lies and tells me she's looking for parts. Parts! Like she's a mechanic or something."

"You know, she could have been a mechanic."

"Nah. Like I said, she looked clean. No way she gets her hands dirty."

"Well did you check? Her hands I mean. Were they chipped, greasy, dirty, calloused? Did they look like a mech's hands?"

"Ugh…no. I didn't check."

"So let me get this straight. Some strange girl starts sniffing around your car, you get a funny vibe from her, and when she tells you her story you don't check to see if she's telling the truth?" Jerome asks seriously as if he can't believe Butch's stupidity.

"Don't look at me like that! It was a long trip, and it's been a while…so I got a little distracted…I didn't think it was necessary!"

Jerome takes a swing of his beer, "Un- _fucking_ -believable. Forget it. I'm sure it was nothing. What you should be more worried about are HIM and Ace. They know you're here and they haven't done anything about it. Don't you think that's strange? Considering the lengths your father went to last time to get rid of your ass."

"You know HIM; he tries really hard to make it seem like he isn't scared of anything. I'm sure he's just doing it to piss me off, but that's fine. I can wait."

"No you can't," Jerome snorts, "You're like the most impatient person I know. Look, let's make a deal, alright. As long as you're here, under my roof, you can do whatever you like as long as it has nothing to do with HIM. You won't talk about HIM; you won't fuck with HIM. You're a thief, a street racer, a gang banger, but I draw the line at father-killer. And I'm not just saying this to cover my own ass, if you want to do this, there's nothing I can do to stop you, but you're going to do it right. You're not going in half-cocked."

"Thanks for the vote of confidence."

"I'm serious, Butch. It's not just HIM and Ace you got to worry about. Brick is back."

"Brick…he's back?"

Jerome nods his head.

"Son of a BITCH!" Butch slams his hands on the table. "Just what I fucking needed! The fucking golden boy ruining everything! What the hell is he even doing back?"

"I figured HIM's plan always was to bring Brick back so he could take over the business."

"That should be years from now! What about college? I'm sure that smart bastard would like to go to some rich fru-fru school. Piece of shit thinks he's so much better than everyone else!"

"I don't know man, but you've got to be careful. Like I said, the only way you're gonna stand a chance is if you don't go in half-cocked. If I was you, I'd play nice with Ace and his crew."

"What for? They're lying rat bastards—who needs them!"

"You do! You can't get close to HIM without getting close to those guys. Try to act like all that shit is behind you, it has been five years, maybe they'll buy it."

Butch snorts, "Doubt it. But I get what you're saying. If I want dirt on HIM the only way I'll get it is through those guys."

"Exactly! Knew you had more than one brain cell in that pinhead you call a brain."

Butch rolls his eyes as he bites into another slice of pizza. He didn't want to play it this way, but fuck, with Brick back in the picture the stakes just got higher. Things couldn't go down like in an old-fashioned shootout. HIM, at least, was a thug and would probably welcome Butch's violent approach, but Brick was too smart for that kinda of shit. No, it was time to act like a Mercer and play this their way, then once and for all, HIM would finally see who the better son is.

Then his father would regret ever fucking with him.

No. Better yet.

He'd make his father regret not killing him when he had the chance.

* * *

 

It takes a week to fix up his car, so that's it's primetime ready. All that was left for Butch to do was find a race. Luckily, that's what Jerome is for, he may be a retired old mobster, but he still knew his shit. Jerome locates a race going down tonight, and Butch isn't going to miss it for anything.

"You sure this is a good idea? You never really know who's hosting these things. It could be a trap that HIM set up to draw you out."

Butch snorts, "I doubt it. HIM is a bad guy but like a lame, B-movie bad guy. He doesn't know shit about any cool crimes. He doesn't give a fuck about drag racing."

"Maybe so, but I can guarantee that Ace and his buddies will be there. They're bound to report back to HIM if they spot you."

Butch snorts, "Like I give a fuck." Butch does give a fuck—a small fuck—but the thought did cross his mind. Still, Butch planned it out this way. To make his big debut back in Townsville by winning a race. The reality is that it could be Ace and the gang or any other lowlife that works for HIM—doesn't matter, after tonight, HIM will know his crazy, revenge-seeking son is back in Townsville.

The message will be sent. A big fuck you to HIM and a giant warning that his days are numbered.

Butch takes one last look under the hood of his car. When everything looks perfect, he shuts the top and steps into the driver seat. "Like you said, I can handle punks like Ace."

Jerome chuckles, "You're going to get yourself killed, you know that right?"

Butch turns on the car, the engine cutting off Jerome's laughter. "We all have to go sometime!" Butch yells out as he drives away.

He makes it to the spot Jerome told him about. It's an old factory not too far from Jerome's home. Probably how the old fart learned about tonight's race.

The party is already in full swing, cars of all types lined up on either side of the race track, and music pumping through the car's massive speakers.

Most cars are, predictably, painted in bright and colorful patterns. Butch smirks, he didn't have to paint his ride some stupid color. Knight rider is beautiful enough on her own; muted in its solid black paint job.

Butch looks around trying to find the flagger. He spots him, a man standing in the middle of the dirt path that makes up the race track. He is currently taking money, the buy-in amount for those that want to participate in the race. The man's back is to Butch as he approaches.

"Yo, what's the buy-in?"

The man turns around mumbling to himself as he counts the cash in his hands, "500. Bets are another thing; you have to arrange that—Holy shit!" The man shouts out as finally he looks up and gets a good look at Butch. "You're Butch."

"No shit. Now you gonna take my money or what?" Butch holds up five 100 dollar bills in front of his face. It's not a steep price, the buy-in, but Butch doesn't have much money. The five bills in his hands are some of the last few dollars Butch has on him. Not that Butch intends to be broke for very long.

"Yeah, man." The flagger laughs nervously. "Fuck, I heard rumors, but I didn't think you were actually back. Between you and me, I don't think any of these guys stand a chance."

"You can stop the ass kissing. Real talk, who's the competition?"

"Nah, man. I'm serious. Most of these guys are newbs; it's why the buy-in is so low."

"That sucks. My first day back and no action?"

"Well, there is one. His name is Bud." The flagger nods to someone behind Butch. Butch turns around to see a tall, skinny man with a green mohawk standing a few feet away. "I know what you're thinking. He's not much to look at, and honestly, he's a poser, but his inexperience works for him. I don't know if it's stupid bravery or just plain stupid, but he's crazy enough to do anything to win. Last race, his engine went up in smoke. Barely had time to cross the finish line and jump out before the car went up in flames. He won, though."

Butch hums, "Thanks. I'll watch out for him."

The flagger nods, "I'd get your ride. The race is about to begin." Butch runs off to fetch knight rider. A sharp whistle cuts the music off, everyone's attention shifts to the flagger. "Alright! Listen up! We're about to start. Racers! To the start line." Four cars line up beside Butch. A hot pink Honda, a green and gold Toyota, a silver Toyota, and the bright blue Nissan belonging to the green-haired punk, Bud.

_Cheap cars, for cheap racers. I got this in the bag._

"Racers, start your engines!" The flagger yells out; a sexy girl stands beside him, flag raised in the air. The cars start revving their engines, making the crowd go wild. "On my mark! Get set!" The girl drops the white flag and off the cars go, tires screeching and the crowd cheering.

Butch has raced on this track before. It's a commonly used place, as it's off from the main roads and abandoned. The only downside is that the track is small, so racers have to loop around three times. First person to pass the finish line during the third loop wins.

Butch keeps his speed constant, letting all four flashy cars pass him. The silver Toyota takes the lead, that is until they reach the first turn. The silver Toyota doesn't slow down and clearly doesn't have enough experience to make a controlled turn. The silver car ends up sliding uncontrollably until it crashes into the silo. The hot pink car takes the lead, the green car right on her tail.

The four cars still in the race finish the first loop. Butch is disappointed. According to the flagger, his only competition is Bud, the blue Nissan, but he's unimpressive so far. He drives like a drunk, to be honest, and while Bud's constant swerving is making it hard for Butch to pass him, it's really annoying and won't keep Butch from winning.

They near the end of the second loop when the green Toyota seems to have enough and rear-ends the pink car, trying to pass her. The pink Toyota appears to have forgotten she's in a race, having reacted like a common driver and not a racer. She slams on the brakes, the sudden stop making her skid sideways. The green car, too close to her to avoid impact, ends up ramming into the pink's car passenger door.

Butch and Bud go opposite ways, passing the damaged cars. They cross the start line, into the third loop, at the same time. Bud tries swerving into him, trying to drive Butch off course. Butch snorts, amateur shit. Butch gets the lead once Bud starts to lose control trying to swerve into him. All in all, pretty boring shit.

Butch is nearing the turn when he hears the familiar sound of nitro. He catches sight of green fire shoot out from the blue Nissan, going off in the wrong direction. Guess, he's more stupid than stupid brave.

Butch makes the turn, feeling smug and bored at the same time. He can see the finish line, not too far from the turn when out of nowhere the path in front of him darkens. It confuses Butch at first until he realizes it's a shadow. A large and growing shadow.

"HOLY SHIT!" Bud's car is flying over him! That crazy fucker must have cut across and jumped a ramp. It's stupid, crazy, desperate, and—he hates to admit it—fucking impressive!

Butch hits the nitro, mostly out of self-preservation. He's sure he could've won without it, but at this point, he'd rather not be flattened by Bud's car. The nitro hits just in time to avoid impact. Bud's car crashes into the ground behind him and Butch crosses the finish line. He shuts off his engine and hears the loud crowd cheer for him. When Butch steps out, he spots Bud angrily kicking at his ruined car.

Stupid motherfucker.

The flagger is at his side, excitedly announcing his name and declaring him the winner. He gets mixed reactions from the crowd. It's still a lively crowd, only those that recognize him or know his name gasp and pause in surprise.

Butch holds out his hand, "My winnings."

The flagger slaps the cash into Butch's hand. "Yeah, man! Here you go. It's great to have you back!"

Most people go back to partying, and only a few people go up to him to congratulate him. Mostly drunk people that don't recognize him—mostly hot drunk chicks.

"That was so awesome!" A busy blond breathes into his ear. "How do you drive like that?"

"90% skill. 10% Luck." Butch winks. The blond girl laughs and fuck, Butch's night just got better. He's got a cool couple grand burning his pocket and a hot, easy, girl at his side. Could life get any better?

A slow clap gets Butch's attention, drawing them away from the blond girl's chest. "Congratulations. That was some race." Ace says in his slimy voice, his crew standing behind him. "Lacey, sweetie, you wouldn't mind letting Butch and us boys talk, would you?"

The busty blond's eyes grow wide, and she shakes her head nervously. "N…no, Ace. I'll catch ya' later."

Butch looks away at retreating blond.  _Damn_. She was so hot." You must have some balls, Ace."

"Don't worry about her. I can guarantee she spends the night with you if that's what you want."

"I don't want shit from you." Butch spits. "Now, you gonna let me enjoy my night? 'Cuz if not I have better places to be."

"Like Jerome's? Oh, yeah. We know all about that."

Butch steps closer to Ace, "You leave him out of this."

"Fine. But you're gonna have to play nice with us first. We got something you need to hear. In private."

"What makes you think I want to listen?"

"Come on, Butch. It's been five years; things don't swing in your favor no more. You've got to show the proper respect, just like we're doing now. 'Sides, if you don't listen, then we can't promise that HIM won't hear about this."

That gets Butch's attention. "You mean to tell me HIM don't know?"

Ace smirks, "HIM don't need to know 'bout nothing." He nods his head to the side and walks away. Ace's lackeys following after him.

Butch watches them for a few seconds, debating over going with them or not. It could be a trap, not the first Ace has pulled on him, and frankly, the only thing Butch feels like doing is breaking the motherfucker's face in.

Butch feels his anger rising, it feels almost like a physical object that he has to squash down by fisting his hands. Play nice with Ace. That's what Jerome said, not that Butch wanted to listen to his advice, but the last time he ignored Jerome's advice HIM had Butch sent to a Juvie out on the west coast.

Lesson learned. Jerome is always right.

"Fuck," Butch mumbles walking after Ace. They find a little secluded area, not too far from the party, but far enough away that no one can hear them. If Ace wanted to start something, there'd be a lot of witnesses, not that anyone would say anything. Butch wonders if Ace did this purposely for Butch's protection or his own.

"I'm here. So talk."

"What? No greeting? It has been five years since we last saw each other."

"Fuck you. Like I ever wanted to see your piece of shit face again."

Ace drops the smirk, "I know. I ain't going to apologize for that. What's done is done. But, man, it took a lot of work to get you back here."

Red hot anger courses through Butch at Ace's words and this time, he isn't strong enough to push it back. He grabs Ace by his shirt and slams him into a nearby wall. "Did you have something to do with that?" Butch snarls.

"Boss!" Billy shouts out.

"You're going to regret that." Snake threatens. The rest of the guys getting ready for a fight.

"Settle down boys." Ace winces, calming his friends before they try something stupid. Getting into a fight with Butch is never a good idea. They all know he's always packing something. "If you're talking about what went down in LA, I had nothing to do with that."

"You better not be lying to me, Ace." Butch grits, pushing harder on Ace's skinny frame.

"I swear! I'm not! I don't even know what happened. Alls I know is what HIM told me." Ace pleads, holding up his hands in a sign of peace.

"What did HIM say?"

"All he said was you were coming back. To be honest, he looked pretty spooked about it. Whatever it was that he did, I know he crossed a line."

Butch pushes Ace back, letting go of his shirt, "Like you care."

"I do." Ace gasps, catching his breath. "Look, none of us are saints, but none of us is HIM neither. And honestly, I'm tired of working for the guy."

"You should of thought about that before you decided to fuck me over!"

"I know, okay! You want me to say it? Fine! We fucked up! We should have never turned our backs on you!"

"Fuck your apology, Ace. I ain't exactly the forgiving type." Butch begins to walk away, too pissed off to listen to any of Ace's bullshit.

"I'm not trying to apologize! I want to make things right! Get even!"

Butch pauses, "And how exactly are you going to do that? Go to prison for me? You gonna do the time I had to?"

"I'm not the one that sent you to juvie, Butch. That was HIM." Ace sighs, "I want to get back at HIM."

Butch turns back around, stunned. "You mean…no fucking way. Did HIM put you up to this? Is this some kind of trap?"

Ace approaches, signaling his crew to stay behind, "No joke. I'm serious. I want to bring down HIM."

Butch pauses for a bit, then lets out a deep and short laugh, "You must think I'm the biggest idiot in the world. Why the fuck should I believe you?"

Ace smirks, "I thought you'd say that." He reaches into his back pocket and pulls out a small black microchip. "You know what this is?"

Butch rolls his eyes, "A sim card. So what?"

"This is ain't just some sim card. It belonged to city attorney Jeremy Kenny."

Butch raises an eyebrow, "Is that name suppose to mean something to me?"

"It should. Jeremy Kenny is dead. No one knows, not yet. Nobody even thinks him missing yet."

"Ace, I know it's been a long time. But if you're waiting for me to get it, you're going to be waiting a long time. Just fucking spit it out."

"Jeremy Kenny was killed by your car. A drunk hit n' run. It happened about a month ago."

Butch frowns in confusion, "But I wasn't even here—YOU SON OF A BITCH! You framed me!"

"Hold on!" Ace yells, arms up to block Butch's fist, "It wasn't me! I mean, we did drive the car. But it was all HIM's idea. He wants to frame you and turn you over to the cops. He's got all the evidence he needs to make you look guilty."

"Bullshit! Then why hasn't he turned me over?"

"'Cuz he don't know you're here, not yet at least. As soon as you came back to Townsville and took knight rider back, I replaced it with another car. Same color, different year, but it's not like your old man can tell."

"Wait. He knew where my car was stashed? Did he know about the money?"

Ace snorts, "Right. Like I'd tell him that. I wouldn't be alive right now. I just told him I happen to have found your car while's we were stealing and stripping other cars. Don't think he believed me at first, until I started taking your car apart. Luckily, I spent that dough long before then. I'm sure he thought you hid it in the car."

"Right. Lucky."

"Anyway, once he knew you were coming back, he set up this whole plan. As soon as he knows you're here, you'll be leaving in handcuffs again."

Butch crosses his arms, "And I should just trust you why?"

"Because my ass is on the line too. You think HIM won't find a way to get rid of us once you're gone. We can only play stupid for so long, be useful for so long. HIM never keeps people around for long." Ace sighs, "Look, you've been gone a long time, Butch. Things aren't like they use to be. HIM…his power. It's dying. I don't know how it happened, but your old man isn't as sharp as he used to be. He goes out of town a lot, isn't on top of his shit no more, and his old businesses are starting to fall apart. It's like something else has his attention, something big. Whatever it is, it just means he's at his weakest."

Ace places a hand on Butch's shoulder. "The time to act is now. You and me, we're the only ones that have ever gotten even  _close_  to taking him down. Were older now, stronger, we can take HIM out and then, this city is ours!"

Butch narrows his eyes, looking into Ace's reflective glasses, "And if I'm not interested."

Ace smile drops, "Despite what happened, I still consider you a friend Butch, but this is high stakes, and if you're not with us, then you're against us. Can't have too many players on the board." Ace drops his hand. "Think about it! You want the same thing I want. If you work with us, I can promise you HIM will never have to know you're back. We'll keep our mouths shut and make sure to take care of anyone that wants to rat you out to HIM.'"

Butch nods to the sim card in Ace's hand, "What about that? HIM can still stick the cops on me, even if he don't know I'm here."

Ace waves him off, "Don't worry about that. Like I said, your old man is slippin'. I've got all the evidence on me, and if you work with us, no one will ever have to know about what happened to poor Mr. Kenny. Here." Ace gives the sim card to Butch. "As a sign of good faith. So what do you say? Partners?"

Ace is making a lot of promises. Keeping promises isn't Ace's strong suit. He betrayed Butch once, and that fucker is likely to do it again. Still, as much as it pains Butch to admit it, he has no other options. He can work with Ace—that lying, rat, scum of the motherfucking Earth—to take his father down, or he can go to jail.

_FUCK_.

Play nice with Ace, that's what Jerome said. For once, play it smart.

"I don't have to like you to work with you."

Ace smirks, "Fair enough." He extends his hand, and Butch reluctantly shakes it, a bit too forceful but the wince Ace barely manages to hide is worth it. "Great! Now how 'bout we go back and join the party?" Ace begins to walk away, the rest of his crew following after. The lot of them looking fucking pleased with themselves.

Assholes.

"Wait!" Butch yells, "You said no one knows this guy is dead, right? No one knows he's even gone missing?"

Ace nods his head, "Yeah, why?"

"Well, what about when they do find out? You may be willing to keep this secret but what if someone saw you? Saw my fucking car? What if someone knows something?"

Ace snorts, "Don't worry about it! We're professionals, no one saw a thing. And even if they did, it was in the Rot. They know better. Now come on! You need some booze; you're too tense."

Butch lets out a weak chuckle, "Right." He's the last to join the party, lagging behind everyone else. Something about what Ace said is nagging him.

It's not like Ace is lying, Ace truly believes he's professional enough not to get caught, only Butch knows better, and they always made too much noise to ever get away with  _anything_. Butch ignores it, but the thought lingers behind in the back of his head. It's not until later that night—or early morning—when he's heading back to Jerome's that it hits him.

Someone most likely did see something. Most likely not someone that would go to the police. Not someone that works for Ace either. So, who could possibly want to break the most important rule in the Rot and rat him out to the cops? Maybe someone that was spying on Ace. Making sure he got the job done. Someone that would benefit from seeing his ass hauled off to jail.

Someone working for HIM.

But who?

_Holy shit_!

He knows who. The girl! From the junkyard!

She fucking knows!

* * *

 

_A few days later…_

Brick did not enjoy venturing to such desolate, unclean places such as the Rot, but when dire situations called for it, Brick made exceptions.

"Do you think it wise to drive around  _this_  place in a limousine," Morgan asks, a touch of nervousness in his voice.

"HIM's name is on the license plate; there's nothing to worry about." Brick reassures the short man. "What did you find?"

"Not much. I know your fa—HIM controls the police, but their report is just downright sloppy. The whole thing just as well could have been blacked out with the information I got. All I know is that a gang, whose name isn't even written down despite their identity known, attacked a man named Jack Martin. That's it. There's no mention of who this Jack Martin is nor a list of injuries or items damaged or lost. And on the final line, it just reads witness: Blossom Utonium."

"You're right. That is sloppy. Who wrote the report?"

"An officer by the name of Mike Brikowski. Says he and his partner Michael Wings were the first on the scene."

"Wings. That's the officer I spoke with. He's new, a transfer from Chicago. Clean too. No doubt Brikowski switched the reports and gave HIM the real one. Brikowski has been on HIM's payroll for years. This must be why he's so interested in that Blossom girl."

"I doubt HIM would find a young girl so threatening. Besides the conversation at the diner and the initial incident she hasn't really made any noise about the whole incident, and it's not like the police are going to do anything about it anyway."

"I suppose you're right." Brick reluctantly admits. Morgan rolls his eyes, quite used to Brick's stubborn pride. "Blossom doesn't know anything, and if HIM did find her a threat, he'd just get rid of her. She's a young girl, works downtown, walks home alone; it would be easy to make it look like an accident." Brick huffs, "Then what is his fascination?"

"Isn't that why we're here? To get more information from those undignified idiots HIM employs. Although, now that you mention it, I don't think it would be as easy as getting rid of the young Utonium girl. From what I researched her family is quite beloved in this town."

Brick huffs in disbelief, "I find that hard to believe." His mood still sour over the bitter confrontation he just had with the Blossom girl. It wasn't how he pictured their first conversation going, but really, it's her fault. She's just so… _frigid_.

"There is nothing to like about that girl. Nothing. She's neurotic, rude, and generally, unpleasant. She is such a waste of my time and energy. I can't imagine she's anything but a bitter chore and punishment for HIM to torture me with." Brick trails off, noticing Morgan's confused gaze. Brick hand't said much to the man since leaving the delightfully, uncharming diner ten minutes ago. Having just told the driver their next location and demanding importation from Morgan. Really the whole encounter with Blossom had left such a bitter taste in his mouth he just wanted to focus on the next task.

Morgan doesn't need to know that his first contact with the Utonium girl had gone horribly wrong. Not that it was his fault— that ungrateful shrew.

"Stop. This is the place." Brick announces.

The gang green gang's hideout was a well-known secret. With all the enemies those boys made you'd think they'd be more careful about where they conjugated, but since they worked for HIM, they had his protection and thus no one was willing to mess with them.

Brick steps out the car and stands in front of a run-down looking house sitting next to a warehouse. With what HIM pays them Brick finds it hard to understand why the gang green gang would purposely live in such a pigsty.

Brick opens the door and steps inside, not bothering to knock first. The first thing he notices are empty boxes, bags, and takeout containers littering the floor. Disgusting. He spots four members in the living room—if it could be called that as it resembles more a trash can than a living space. A large guy takes up a couch, asleep, one is sitting on the floor texting, while the other two play a rather loud video game.

Guess this is what they spend their money on.

"Guys! Who ate the last of the Cheetos? I swear if it was—well, ain't this a nice surprise!" Yells Ace as he walks into the living room. "Boys shut that off!"

The two playing video games turn to look at him in surprise, noting their guest for the first time. "Whoa! Look it! The bossman's son."

"Arturo, manners. That's not just the bossman's son, that's his heir. You know what that means, don't you? Brick, here, will be our bossman one day."

Brick merely raises an eyebrow, "Unlikely, unless you want to start proving that you're worth keeping around."

Ace smirks, "Well, golden boy, how can we be of service?"

"Jack Martin. You had an altercation with him. I want to know who he is and why."

Ace snorts, "Wow. I wish I could do that. Get anything I want just by asking for it. That's a neat superpower, but sorry to say this goes above you. You know how your father likes his secrets. But since you're all buddy-buddy with HIM I'm sure you could just ask him yourself."

"I already know the answer to this, but are you at all familiar with the game of chess?"

Ace rolls his eyes and says nothing.

"Right. Well, I don't expect you to understand. Despite what you think, I don't get everything handed to me, I demanded it, yes, but I seek it out for myself. Asking for daddy's help is frowned upon in my family. So why don't we try again. Jack Martin. Tell me everything you know."

Ace walks up to him looking incredibly tall but underfed. Ace stops inches away from him, and Brick supposes he's to find the whole act intimidating. How hilarious. Ace is aware that the same man he fears, his bossman, is the same man Brick is forced to call father, right?

"I ain't telling you nothing. Now I suggest you get your fancy ass back in your fancy ass car and get the hell out of here. The Rot ain't no place for pretty boys like you."

"What do you intend to do, Ace? Shoot me? Hit me? I won't fight back, it's not my style, but we both know you can't kill me. So if you intend to hurt me, make me bleed, remember whose blood you'd be spilling. My father may not be a caring man, but he is prideful, so I'd tread lightly."

Ace smirks, "You're right. I can't hurt you, and you're not willing to get your hands dirty, so I guess we're at a standstill. I'm not telling you nothing, but since you are the boss's son, feel free to make yourself at home. You can stick around as long as you like."

Ace laughs, believing himself the victor of their little spat, Brick almost smiles himself, thinking the whole thing humorous. Almost.

Brick crosses his arms behind his back, keeping his calm demeanor. He really didn't want to resort to this, but his patience is wearing thin. "You know, when Butch was a child, he had a horrible habit of hiding things. Maybe it's because he stole them or because he had an inability of sharing. Regardless, he was good at it. He got really creative with his hiding spots too. He once hid a gold necklace inside one of the couch cushions."

"Is there a point to this, red? 'Cuz I got better stuff to do."

"Seeing the way you live, I'm curious. What did you do with the 50 thousand dollars Butch had stashed in his car? Did you gamble it away, spend it on drugs, women?"

Ace's smirk falls right off his face, "What?"

"Did I not make myself clear? The money, Ace. I know all about it. I may not be fond of Butch, but he is the only one to ever best our father in some respect, so even though my father desperately wanted the money Butch stole from him, I decided to keep quiet. As did you. I may not have known where the car was hidden, but I'm sure Butch told you. His best friend." Ace's shocked, fearful expression shows a hint of guilt.

Brick pauses, enjoying the sight and giving Ace a moment to let the revelation sink in. "Now that I've cleared up a few things, I'll ask again. If you refuse to answer, then I guess I'll just have to take your advice and run off and ask daddy for help and while I'm at it I suppose I could ask him if he knows what you did with his 50 grand."

Ace stares at him in unfiltered rage while his lackeys stare on in horror. Good. They know the price for betraying HIM.

"What do you want?"

"Jack Martin. Speak. Now."

Ace lets out a long-suffering sigh. "Boys step outside." The other members look at each other before heading out quick, but not before waking up their sleeping friend and dragging him outside. When the door closes, and it's just the two of them. Ace speaks. "Martin's some finance guy. Works for city hall."

"The finance director?"

Ace shrugs, "Probably or works for the finance director. Anyway, he just got the job about a year ago and, as you probably guessed, is on HIM's payroll. Martin is responsible for siphoning money into some of HIM's projects and is essentially our payroll guy. He'd been doing a good job, but while HIM was away, he started slipping. The money didn't add up. So HIM sent us to deliver a message."

Brick frowns, "HIM was away? When? Where did he go?"

Ace groans, "I don't know, a few months ago? He was gone longer than usual, maintained radio silence the whole time. As for where I have no idea. It's not like I asked."

"Were you aware that there was a witness?"

"I figured someone was there, we heard 'em, but can't say who it was. Not like it matters, heard one of ours was first on the scene."

"Yes, but HIM knows who it is."

"Really? Well, he ain't said shit to us, or trust me, we would have taken care of it already."

"Do you know what projects Matin is funding?"

"Nope. Not my business to know, ain't part of the job description. But if I had to guess I'd say it was that new complex they're building out in the Rot."

"He's still working on that?" Brick mumbles to himself. "Why isn't it being funded through the company?"

"Don't know that either. Now, we done here or what? Threat or no, I don't have all the answers, no one does. If you want to know the whole truth, you know who you have to ask."

Brick hums, "I guess that'll do for now. I don't want to be here any longer than I have to." He turns around ready to walk out when Ace stops him.

"What makes you think I won't tell HIM about the money? He'll think you and Butch planned the whole thing together. Then you'll really be sorry."

"I suppose you could tell him, but then you'd be telling him the truth about yourself. Essentially, it'll come down to who he'll be more upset with and who he'll believe. Is that a gamble you're willing to lose?"

Brick walks out before Ace can answer. Once inside the limo, the driver takes off; in the reviewer mirror Brick can see all of the gang green gang standing in the middle of the road. Ace pointing a gun straight ahead.

"Did you get what you needed?" Morgan asks.

"Yes."

"And?"

"And there is a lot more that HIM is keeping from us and I intend to find out."

* * *

 

"…Officer Wings was very clear. The case is closed, and although Blossom seemed distressed with the fact, it's highly unlikely she'll pursue the subject farther."

HIM takes in the view outside his office as he listens to his eldest son. A few seconds pass after Brick stops speaking. HIM sighs in disappointment and spins around in his chair, trading in his view of the clear skies for the poised and polished view of his son. "Is that all you've managed to find?"

Brick barely manages to rail in his frustration, doing a half-decent job of remaining impassive. "Besides the basics, such as school, family—"

"Public records? Information any idiot with a computer can find?"

"I wanted to be informed on the target. Besides, I'm just keeping you updated as you requested."

"Telling me something that I already knew isn't exactly keeping me updated, now is it?" HIM grins, enjoying the subtle cracks in Brick's veneer. Brick may be his favorite but oh how HIM loves to mess with his head. See, Brick is defined by control. A delicious sort of irony given his upbringing. Brick had everything HIM always wished he had growing up. Money, power, privilege. Only Brick didn't enjoy it or make use of it the way a typical teenager would; he didn't throw parties or waste ridiculous sums of money on useless things. Brick was not excessive. He was smart.

He was dull.

He was predictable.

It tickled HIM to no end how his favored son was so different from himself. Excess defined HIM, if he wasn't so greedy and materialistic, his hunt for more money, more power, more  _everything_ , would have come to an end years ago. Perhaps that was why Brick didn't indulge; maybe Brick felt he had to earn it for himself before he could truly enjoy it. HIM respected that.

"I knew you were already aware of the situation, and I know this incident isn't what has you so invested in Blossom Utonium, but I'm merely doing as asked. It would have seemed careless, if not suspicious, of me not to report all that I've learned."

HIM smirks at Brick, pleased his son is acting like the loyal spawn he raised Brick to be. HIM's investment in the young Utonium girl is no laughing matter, no passing fancy, so although this mission is of the utmost importance, Hannibal decided not to provided Brick with any information. This mission is equally about Brick proving his loyalty as it is about Hannibal getting what he wants. What he desperately needs.

"You haven't figured it out yet, I see," Hannibal states, referring to the why behind his request that Brick pay attention to the Utonium girl.

Brick suppresses a sigh, "No, but—"

HIM gets up laughing, "Brick. Bricky. What you have in intelligence, you lack in creativity. Perhaps that Jojo fellow isn't doing enough digging, hm?" He says, a threatening edge to his voice. "Oh? Weren't aware I knew? Doesn't bother me what you have that egg head do, just remember what your focus should be, alright?"

"Yes. Of course."

"Good. So, have you made any progress befriending the girl?"

This time Brick does sigh.

_Ooh_. Interesting.

"Not yet, and not for lack of trying either. She seems to have already made up her mind about me, which is absurd considering I've never done anything to her."

"Haven't you shown her your best side?" HIM laughs, "You are good at first impressions."

"Apparently not." Brick mumbles, "I don't see why it's necessary that I befriend her. Can't I obtain whatever information you want from her some other way?"

HIM laughs, a high pitched giggle. It's so funny when Brick whines and pouts, he's not aware that he does it and would be mortified to learn he acts just as every other child does. "Why, Bricky? Are you saying you aren't up to the challenge?"

Brick grits his teeth, "That's not it at all,  _sir_. I just think it a waste of my valuable time."

"Are you questioning me, boy?" HIM asks, a dangerous edge to his giddy tone. He only ever called Butch boy, sometimes Boomer too—never Brick.

"No sir."

"Good. Don't forget. Your time is my time, and I'm all too familiar with how valuable our time is." Hannibal spins around in his chair, his back to Brick and with a clear view of the Townsville skyline. "We never seem to have enough of it." HIM sighs, "You may leave"

Brick, presumably confused and frustrated, takes his leave. His loud footsteps betraying his mood.

"Children." HIM sighs. He watches as his son, a speck from where he sits high above the streets of Townsville, walks out of the building and into his limo. The faithful ape, Jojo, at his side. If Jojo weren't such a spineless egg head, he'd realize how strong his physicality is, thick arms and dark hair. Delicious and probably fun for a go around in the sack if only that man didn't  _talk_  so much. Still, not so much a waste of a man, not if it meant keeping Brick in line.

The phone rings, breaking HIM away from his devious thoughts.

"Sir, it's a Mr. Hardy. Says it's urgent." Ms. Grey's voice announces.

"Put him through to line one."

"Yes, sir."

HIM picks up the phone, "Dick. You better have good news."

"Hannibal, hey!" Dick greets, overly enthusiastic.

"Save the pleasantries, Dick. I don't like you, and the only reason you're still alive is that you're the only person in the whole world that has even a remote understanding of Professor Utonium's research. So cut the crap. What have you got?"

"Umm, well, hello to you too," Dick replies, oblivious to HIM's threat. Hannibal rolls his eyes in annoyance. Hardy is by far his least favorite person at the moment.

"Get. On. With. It." HIM hisses.

"Okay. Okay. So good news and bad news. Which do you want first?"

HIM lets out a disgruntled sigh.

"Right. Right. Bad news first. So, we weren't able to retrieve any of Utonium's notes. He destroyed everything. And I mean everything! That's like government official documents. I don't know how he made such official documents disappear, but he did. I mean even his personal computer turned out nothing."

"But it was heavily encrypted. Why bother if he had nothing to hide on it?" HIM asks while massaging his head. This bad news and Hardy's obnoxious personality are giving him a killer headache. Hannibal reaches for his top drawer, needing pain meds to take away the throbbing headache. He uses his ring to open the locked drawer and pulls out a bottle, popping two pills into his mouth. He drops the bottle back into the draw where is hits and rattles around with various other pill bottles.

"I know. All those months of trying to crack it for nothing. I'm sure he was just sending us on a wild goose chase. Trying to stall us."

" _Motherfucker._ " HIM slams his hand on his desk. "What's the good news?"

"Well, luckily, we were able to retrieve a sample." HIM can practically feel the smile on Hardy's face.

"You don't mean?"

"Oh yes. We thought nothing had survived the fire, but after the computer was a bust, we decided to take a second look. Granted, it's small, but I remember John theorizing the compound could reproduce under the right conditions."

"And has it?"

"Uh, no. Not yet. We only got the one sample, and we don't want to do anything that will contaminate our only sample."

"Hm. Very well. But remember time is of the essence. Congratulations, Hardy, you've earned the right to live another day."

Hardy laughs, "Haha. Real funny."

HIM says nothing.

"HIM? Hello? You're joking, right?"

HIM hangs up. "Irritating man." He dials his secretary, "Ms. Grey, hold my calls for today. I have to make a site visit."

"Will do, sir," Venus answers, hardly hiding her disdain for her boss. HIM chuckles, oh Venus, a beautiful and useless woman.

HIM stands up to leave his office when a dizzy spell comes over him. He catches himself on his desk as the room spins so as not to fall. "Guess this is why I shouldn't mix alcohol with pain meds." He mumbles. The rooms stills and HIM shakes his head, ignoring the dizzy spell, and heads out.

* * *

 

HIM tries to avoid the Rot when he can. He spent years trying to claw his way out, but, ironically, all that hard work lead him back where he started.

Hannibal has a lot of dealings inside the Rot. He doesn't directly deal with business there; that's why he has low-level employees like those pathetic gang greens to do these unpleasant dealings for him.

However, somethings can't be helped.

Hannibal steps out of his limo, buttoning his grey suit jacket. He looks up at the unfinished building in front of him, various men in hardhats walking around. HIM spots the project manager and walks up to him.

"Jorge, tell me you have something." HIM says with urgency. The sooner this is over, the sooner he can get out of this hell hole.

"Señor," Jorge, a middle-aged Hispanic man startles, "I did not know you were coming today."

"Well, you did say you would have something for me soon. Times up. You have something for me or not?"

Jorge rubs the back of his neck, "Uh, well…"

" _Jorge_." HIM coos, "You're one of my best workers. I'd hate to have to let you go for not keeping your word."

Jorge sighs, "Come with me, sir."

HIM follows Jorge into the manager's office, a private bungalow off to the side of the construction site. HIM makes himself comfortable and sits in one of the lounge chairs, a gift Hannibal gave Jorge for meetings like these.

"So, Jorge, what have you got? I have a shareholder's meeting in a few days, and I'd like to have tangible evidence for why this project isn't going anywhere." HIM's tone was oddly relaxed when talking about the failure of the Rot complex, but HIM's intention was never to see this project to fruition. Of course, if his shareholders knew that, it would spell bankruptcy for his company, and HIM couldn't have that.

"Uh, well, I know you wanted me to forge something—"

"It's hardly forgery." HIM interrupts, "I just wanted you to give me a fake presentation that I could give to the board. I've had enough false official documents coming in from City Hall, and some of my investors are starting to get suspicious. That's why I hired you, honest Jorge. You have a good reputation in this town, and that makes you a credible source."

Jorge looks down in defeat. An honest man he was, and under normal circumstance would never have agreed to work for HIM; however, there were such few jobs left in the city, and his family desperately needed the money. "To be honest, sir. I'm not too comfortable about lying—"

"Jorge." HIM breathes out in a low voice, "Don't do this."

"But!" Jorge chimes in quickly, "I did find some actual proof that could work in your favor. It's not exactly lying."

"Oh?"

Jorge accesses a video on his computer and turns the screen around so HIM can see. It's a security camera, four actually, showing different parts of the construction site. It's night time, so the video is a bit grainy. He sees four figures on the screen, teenagers, in various states of inebriation, throwing beer bottles around and causing general mayhem.

"When did you find this?"

"About a week ago. We were doing maintenance on the security systems when I found this."

HIM leans back in his seat, "This could work. Tangible proof. And I assume these hoodlums caused untold property damages." HIM infers with a smile. "Of course, the date on these video feeds will need to be changed. The board won't believe the delay has been caused by an incident that happened a month ago. But that will be a job for my tech guys. Good work, Jorge."

"But sir, won't the board want to go after these kids?"

"I suppose so, I could have my men look into it, not that their search would yield much. I doubt these kids have criminal records. It would be hard to find them, let alone persecute them."

Jorge nods and looks down, wringing his hands.

"Jorge? Why so nervous? What aren't you telling me?"

"I…um, I recognize one of these kids."

"Oh? I'm guessing that's why you didn't want to say anything? Awfully noble of you, but I respect those that can bite their tongue. Who is it? Show me."

The video keeps playing as Jorge points to a boy on screen. He's arguing with two people, a boy and a girl, whose backs face the screen. "It's this one. His name is Donnie. He's new on the construction team. Not friendly, but a real hard worker."

HIM laughs, understanding Jorge's uncertainty. "Don't worry, Jorge. It's not like I truly care about what he did, I'm not going to fire…" HIM trails off as he spots a familiar figure on the screen. The girl and the boy arguing with Donnie suddenly turn around, the girl marches forward until she pops up on another security camera. The angel is odd, but one second she's on one of the top floors and the next she's jumped onto one of the lower floors.

Jorge, realizing what his boss is seeing is quick to point out, "Yes, that actually did cause damage to one of our mixers. There was half a skateboard suck inside. It ruined the cement. I didn't have access to the security cameras at the time, or else I would have done a thorough investigation."

"The third sister." HIM whispers to himself.

"Sir?"

"Where is Donnie?"

"Uh, here. Working."

"Take me to him."

* * *

 

Donnie wasn't a real active person, not outdoorsy either, but anything beats sitting in a stuffy classroom or hanging around his shitty trailer. Still, Donnie thought this job would be a whole heck of a lot more exciting.

Don't get him wrong; he was making good money. Truth be told, any money was good money, but man was this job boring. He spent half his time on a break and the other half doing what felt like the same shit he did every day. He moved shit around, he hanged shit, he dug occasionally—but for what purpose, he didn't know—and sometimes he got to put in cheap drywall or flooring. Seriously, the materials were so cheap that he felt like he had to replace them every other day.

The highlight of his day—besides making out with his girl, Jenni—were the times he spent gambling with the sons of bitches he worked with. They've played poker, blackjack, arm wrestling—shit, they've even played Go Fish. Donnie was king of Go Fish. Basically, anything they can bet on, they played. Currently, they were playing a game of dice. The first three times Donnie rolled, he kept getting snake eyes, which, okay, weird, but he wasn't going to give up.

"Double or nothing," Donnie says.

"I don't know man, three snake eyes in a row. Today is not your lucky day,  _compadre_."

"Fuck it, you in or out."

His coworker thinks it over a bit before nodding his head, "I'm down."

Donnie shakes the dice in his hand, "Come on, papa needs some dough!" He blows on the dice and lets them roll.

"Sevens!"

" _Puta Madre_!" His coworker cries out.

"I guess it was my lucky day after all." Donnie gloats.

"I bet." A mysterious low voice says behind them. "Mind if I play?"

Everyone turns around to see Jorge, their boss, standing next to a tall, sleek look man, and Holy shit! It's HIM. Everyone freezes in terror.

Jorge clears his throat, "What are you guys standing around for? Get back to work!"

Everyone scrambles to get back to their posts. Donnie is quick to pick up his winnings and run out when he is stopped by Mr. Mercer himself. "Not you." HIM says, "I need to speak with you."

Donnie freezes, not sure what HIM would want.

"You're new." HIM starts, "Look young. Hold old are you?"

"Eighteen."

"Right. Have an ID to prove it?"

"I, uh, left it at home." Donnie gulps. He is only 16, but HIM is usually lax about age; he's notorious for hiring high school dropouts. Still, HIM doesn't need a reason not to like you. Donnie once heard HIM fired a guy for wearing the same tie as him. Hell, HIM once killed a guy for getting his suit dirty.

Donnie takes a few steps back. His hands are filthy and he doesn't want them anywhere near HIM's crazy expensive suit.

"Sure. Let's say I believe that. No, you know what? I'm sure you're not eighteen, You must be at least 21."

"Huh?"

"21. The legal age to drink. Which is what my security cameras caught you doing the night you decided to wreck my construction site." HIM brings out a tablet and holds it in front of Donnie's face, showing him the surveillance footage.

"Oh, shit!"

"Oh, shit is right, but doesn't exactly capture the severity of the trouble you found yourself in."

"Look, I'm sorry. We were drunk, and we were just messing around—we didn't mean no harm."

HIM circles Donnie with his hands clasped behind his back. "And yet, harm you did."

"No! I swear! We didn't break anything."

"Lies. A broken skateboard was found in one of my cement mixers. It caused a huge delay and untold costs in man hours and equipment."

"That wasn't me! Fuck! It was that bitch—it was Buttercup's fault!"

"Buttercup? A friend of yours?"

"Fuck no! She's my friend's girl. Not like I enjoy having her around."

HIM hums, "Regardless, this building is not solely mine, and my partners will want to punish someone. And well, it's not going to be me." HIM stops his pacing and stands still in front of Donnie. His dark eyes narrow in on the young man, like a hawk that's spotted its prey. "You're quite lucky you know. Having gone all this time with no one knowing what you did. I wasn't even aware the security cameras were working then. You could have almost gotten away with it.  _Almost_."

Donnie backs away in fear. "But it wasn't even my fault! Come on man! I'm sorry! I'll make it up to you! I'll do anything!"

"Anything?" HIM's dark eyes gleam.

Donnie nods his head rapidly, "Anything! I swear."

HIM's smirks that snake-like grin of his, "Good. There's something I need you to do."

* * *

 

Boomer isn't a stranger to silence. In fact, he prefers it. There is no harm in silence, no madness. The stillness is a great comfort to him. Having grown up with two older, rowdier, brothers and his father's "business partners" coming and going at all hours, Boomer grew to enjoy the time he could spend by himself. Alone. Quiet. Nothing but him, his music, and his sketch pad.

Currently, he listens to a low, mellow song and draws on his sketch pad. He's just gotten the eyes right when a bang startles him. He jumps up on instinct, dropping the sketchpad.

The front door is thrown violently open, impressive considering it's massive size. His older brother, Brick, marches in, his expensive, shiny shoes squeaking against the tiled floor. He looks frazzled, irritated. That could only mean one thing.

"That pompous…unbelievable…the  _fucking_  nerve…" Brick mumbles to himself, making his way towards the living area. It's the closest one to the entrance, highly decorated, inviting, and with the best light. Boomer's mother was in charge of the mansion's interior design, and as the first room that guests walk through, she focused most of her attention on it.

Boomer usually skulks in his room, but when he sketches, he likes being down here as the grand windows bring in the most light. Of course, Boomer is use to being alone most of the time. His brothers hadn't been home in five years, and it was talking some major adjustment, mostly on Boomer's part. Brick acted like he was entitled to everything, and Boomer did his best no to get in the way. Mostly, because wherever Brick was around, HIM wasn't too far away.

Boomer quietly gathers his things, hoping to make a quick and quiet escape to his room. But like most things in Boomer's life, he isn't that lucky.

"Can you believe that cocky bastard we're forced to call father?" Brick announces, stalking into the living area and killing all of Boomer's chances of escaping.

Shit. Too late.

"He thinks himself so smug. As if he knows  _everything_." Brick begins to pace. "Like a God, or something. I wouldn't be surprised if he thought himself a God. In reality, he's just some thug in an Armani suit."

Brick continues to rant and Boomer's mind starts to wander. Brick does this a lot, complaining about HIM. It's all he seems capable of talking about anymore. Brick and him have never been close—closer than either of them were to Butch, but, still, not much.

Despite the awkwardness around Brick's sudden arrival, Brick broke the ice with his constant whining of their father. Boomer gets it, honestly he does, but give it a rest! He knows how horrible HIM is and that is why Boomer does his best to stay invisible. If Brick hates HIM so much, he should follow suit and fall of the face of the planet. Make himself invisible so their father can never bother Brick again.

As annoying as Brick's rants are, they are also a little entertaining. Brick is not one to usually lose his cool so fast. HIM has always been a terrible father, that hasn't changed, but Brick's attitude is definitely out of left field. Even as children, when HIM gave Brick a reason to be upset, he was never  _this_  upset. If Boomer cared, he would have questioned Brick's abrupt change in demeanor. But honestly, Boomer just wanted his peace and quiet back.

"Boomer." Brick snaps his finger, "Are you listening?"

Boomer shakes his head, "Um…yeah."

Silence.

"Well?" Brick insists.

"Huh?"

"Dammit, Boomer. Pay attention. I asked you a question."

"Oh. Um…yeah…I wasn't paying attention." Boomer relents, "But, if you're asking about dad, I don't know anything."

"No. I gathered as much when I found out he no longer resides here. I asked if you knew anything about Blossom, Blossom Utonium. Despite your social ineptness, she does go to your school. You might have heard of her."

That peaks Boomer's interest, "Blossom? What about her?"

"So you know her?"

Boomer looks downs, fiddling with his pencil, "Um, I mean, not really. I know she has two sisters. One is like on all the sports team and the other is a cheerleader. I don't think Blossom is on anything."

Brick huffs, "That doesn't surprise me. Doesn't strike me as a social butterfly."

"You know her?"

Brick raises an eyebrow, "Perhaps. But it doesn't concern you." Brick makes to walk away, but hesitates and turns back. "Hypothetically speaking, let's pretend you aren't a complete hermit."

"Thanks."

"And let's say, you confined to social norms and had a crush on a girl—a cheerleader, someone completely out of your league."

Boomer blushes, "Wh—what? Why—"

"How would you go about getting her attention?"

"Um, wha—I mean, wh—why would…I couldn't—what?" Boomer stutters out.

"Because, being who you are and your lack of presence, the first step is to make her realize you actually exist. So go on, how would you do it?"

Boomer looks down again, his pencil tapping rapidly against his leg. "I don't know?" He shrugs, "I guess…it doesn't matter."

"What do mean?"

"It doesn't matter if you try to get her to notice you, not if she doesn't seem interested—in being your friend I mean."

Brick sighs in frustration, "And how would you go about being her friend."

Boomer shrugs again, "I wouldn't really know. I don't have many of those myself."

Brick narrows his eyes, understanding Boomer's light jab at Brick's own lack of social life.

"But." Boomer is quick to add, it's never a good thing when any male member of his family is upset, " If I had to guess, I would say…try to be nice? You know, try to get to know her as a person. It's easy to like a cheerleader when you've never talked to them. They're pretty, but sometimes the illusion shatters when they speak."

"Get to know them." Brick scoffs, " _Useless_. I don't know why I even bother." he sighs, dismissing everything Boomer has said and walks away.

Boomer shakes his head, not understanding how he puts up with his own family either.

His phone rings then and Boomer, grateful for the distraction, is quick to pick it up. "Hello?"

"Hello, this is Dr. Whale from the Sunrise Institute. There's been a minor incident."

* * *

 

"I'm on my way." Boomer quickly answers. He grabs his hoodie and sketch pad, the two items he never leaves home without and leaves, letting the heavy doors shut behind him.

The sun is starting to set by the time Boomer steps out of the Sunrise Institute. Luckily, the minor incident Dr. Whale had mentioned was just that, minor. No harm done. Still, Boomer is grateful for the call. Dr. Whale kept her promise about alerting Boomer of any changes. However, instead of being relived, Boomer walks out feeling like always.

Defeated.

Despite its name. The Sunrise Institute is not a very happy place to visit.

Boomer pops his earphones in and starts his long walk home. He walks slow and with his head down, hoodie up. Invisible. Not like he's all that eager to get back to the mansion and with no place else to go, Boomer takes the even longer way home. He had a car drive him here but ordered the driver to leave. He doesn't like people to wait on him, especially when he didn't know how long he would be.

Boomer makes a turn into a rather deserted, narrow street, loud sad music blasting in his ear, when a hard force like a battering ram slams him into a wall, pinning him.

"Hello, little brother. Long time no see."

Boomer gasps, a soundless, wet choke that keeps him speechless as he looks up in surprise and horror at Butch. Brick, sure he's annoying, smart, and a drag to have around the house. But Butch, oh Butch is lethal. "Wh…Wha…What…" Boomer stutters, unable to form coherent thoughts, let alone sentences.

"For Fuck's sake, Boomer! Calm the fuck down. You look like you're gonna piss yourself." Butch smirks, releasing his hold on Boomer. "I just came to ask you something."

Boomer could use the time to run away, he's certainly faster than Butch, but Boomer's flight or fight system never seems to work when confronted with any member of his screwed up family. And if there is anyone besides his father that Boomer fears most it's Butch.

Butch clicks his tongue, "Well? Aren't you going to say hi to your older brother? You know you're being rude, you dumbfuck."

"Um…just surprised…is all…" Boomer mumbles quietly, trying to look anywhere but at Butch's face. He read once that staring a wild dog in the eyes is a sign of aggression. And the last thing Boomer wants is to get into it with Butch.

Butch ruffles Boomer's head in a gesture of dominance more that familiarity. "Come on, Boomer. I need to talk to you and I can't exactly do that if you're eye-fucking the ground."

Boomer catches the outline of a gun tucked into Butch's front waistband. As scary as it is engaging with Butch, not giving him what he wants it worse. So, Boomer takes in a deep breath, sucks it up, and faces his crazy half-brother.

"Now that's more like it."

"What do you want, Butch?" Boomer says in the most non-threatening voice possible.

"What I want,  _Boomie_ , is for you to one, keep your mouth shut about this. I don't need anyone knowing I was here, or anywhere near Townsville—especially not Brick or HIM."

Boomer nods his head in agreement. It's not like he wants anyone to know Butch is here either. It's easier to pretend Butch doesn't exist most days. Of course, this is like one of Boomer's greatest nightmares. He didn't want to think about the day Butch came back because Boomer knew there would be hell to pay and he just prays he doesn't get caught in the crossfires.

"I mean it. Swear you won't tell anyone." Butch snarls.

"I swear." Boomer breaths.

"Good. Two," Butch continues, "I need you to draw something for me."

Boomer's fear resides a bit as confusion and curiosity take hold. "Draw? Why?"

"None of your business." Butch grunts, "Now you going to start drawing or waste more time asking stupid questions?"

"Fine."

"Good," Butch smirks, in that obnoxious way he does when he's bullied his way into getting what he wants. "Follow me. My car is not far from here."

Once inside the car, Boomer takes out his sketchpad and pencil. Leave it to Butch to ruin what is suppose to be an enjoyable activity.

"What am I drawing?"

"A person—a girl." Butch answers.

Boomer raises his eyebrow in question but Butch refuses to say anything else. Great. Seems like Boomer will have to do most of the talking—not his strong suit. "Okay, um. Just a random girl? Or, are you thinking about someone in specific."

Butch bites his lip in thought. Whatever Butch has in mind with this drawing, he clearly doesn't want Boomer to know, which works just well for him. Boomer doesn't need to know what Butch has planned. The less he knows the better.

"It's someone I know, sort of." Butch finally answers. "I'm trying to find her, but I'm not having much luck. I thought if I could show her picture around, I'd have better luck."

Boomer doesn't believe him, but he figures if this girl knows Butch then she can't be much better than Butch himself. So, Boomer doesn't feel guilty about helping him. Boomer just wants to get the whole thing over with. "All right. What does she look like?"

"I don't know. She's got dark hair and…you know, eyes and stuff."

Boomer finishes drawing a general face shape, "I figured, but if you can't give more detail she's not going to end up looking like anyone specifically."

"Fine." Butch groans, "She has short black hair, shoulder length—shorter, I think. She's got green eyes, light green eyes, and, um, long dark eyelashes." Butch pauses, thinking over any other details he remembers. "She's got a normal nose I guess, dark eyebrows. Sharp looking, like she's always frowning. Oh! She has a few freckles on her nose, but they're kinda hard to see." Butch smirks, "She's got a mouth on her."

"Is she a girlfriend or something?" Boomer asks, too distracted by his drawing to filter his thoughts.

"What? No! I just need to get in touch with her is all. What the fuck made you think that anyway?"

Boomer flinches, "Sorry. It's just the way you described her is all. Okay, give me a second." A few minutes pass by. Boomer draws, and Butch listens to the radio, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel.

Butch eventually can't take the quiet and tries to make conversation, "So Brick is back, huh?"

Boomer pauses, "Yeah." He wonders how Butch knows that, but it's best not to ask. Butch probably knows a lot about stuff Boomer wants no part of. Boomer looks out the corner of his eye, Butch looks tense, his grip white from holding onto the steering wheel too tightly. Butch hates Brick. Honestly, Boomer isn't sure why Butch even brought him up if it upsets him so much. "Sucks. Having him back, I mean. He's really whiny."

Butch turns to him, a grin slowly stretching across his lips. Food, girls, and Brick-bashing, only certified ways to get Butch to relax. A happy Butch is a less violent Butch, usually.

"I bet." Butch laughs. "What he complaining about now? His bras don't match his panties?"

Boomer lets out a small, hesitant chuckle. "Funny."

Butch hits him on the arm.  _Ouch_! "No, seriously. What's gotten up his ass."

"Dad. Brick complains about him every day. I guess he wishes he was still Europe." Boomer answers, distracted by his sketching.

"You don't know why he's back?" Butch presses.

Boomer shakes his head. A few more minutes of silence pass as Boomer continues his drawing. "I'm finished." Boomer announces, showing Butch his sketch.

Butch whistles, "Wow, who knew your sissy drawings would ever get this good?"

"If you didn't think I was good, then why did you ask me to draw?" Boomer asks, a hint of annoyance in his voice. Brick has his smart,s Butch has his guns, and this is all Boomer has. His drawing, his art, it's the only important thing he has going for him.

"I had to ask someone." Butch shrugs, "Hey, can you fix her jaw? Her jaw is more squared, and her cheekbones are a little higher."

Boomer fixes the drawing, "Like this?"

"Perfect." Butch punches Boomer in the arm, harder than a friendly gesture would be, but Butch can't suppress his violent tendencies. "This could work. I mean it looks almost life-like." Butch holds up the drawing, giving Boomer another look. Now that he's not focused on drawing individual features, he can see the whole picture. The nose and mouth catch his attention first, they remind him of a nervous blond at school. Then it occurs to him why this girl and his Chem partner look alike.

It's kinda of hard to miss. Miss athlete, consecutive wins, champion sports star is on like all the major sport teams and one of the most popular girls in school.

"You know Buttercup?"

"Who?"

Oh, fuck! Boomer realizes his mistake too late. Butch doesn't know this girl. A girl that goes to his school, the star athlete, sisters with a cheerleader and the smartest girl in school, a girl who just lost her father. A totally random and innocent girl. A girl he just put in his crazy brother's crosshairs.

Boomer shakes his head and tries to get out the car, but Butch pulls back the door. Trapping them both inside. "Boomer, what aren't you telling? You know this girl?"

"N—No! I mean, she just looks like someone I know."

Butch looms over Boomer, "Boomer, I swear to GOD if you don't come straight with me, you're going to regret it. Talk. Now."

"I…it could be anyone…" Butch's glare only hardens, "But…it could…it could be this girl I go to school with."

"Townsville High, right?"

Boomer could lie right then and there, try to keep his beast of a brother away from an innocent girl, only he can't because Boomer is chicken shit and has never been able nor will ever be able to stand up to his brothers. Besides, he really does not want to face the consequences of Butch finding out his little brother lied to him.

Boomer nods his head in shame.

"What did you say her name was again?"

"Buttercup. But that's all I know about her, I swear!"

Butch rolls his eyes, "Relax. I believe you. This girl and you? Yeah, no shit you don't know her." Butch frowns, looking over the drawing, "You sure she goes to Townsville high? I was sure she lived in the Rot."

Boomer shrugs, "Like I said, it could be anyone." Boomer fidgets, reaching slyly for the door, "Can I go now?"

"Yeah, but one last thing." Before Boomer can react, Butch pulls a gun on him. Even though Butch has yet to pull the trigger, Boomer experiences this surreal moment where he swears he's looking down the barrel of a smoking gun. Dead. Gone. He should feel sad, upset, scared, but really, he always knew it would end like this. "If you tell anyone about this, I. Will. Kill. You. And you know I'm not fucking around."

Boomer is too scared to react to Butch threats, but his scare-shitless expression must be enough for Butch as he puts away his gun. "Now get the fuck out of my car." Once the gun is gone, Boomer is able to think clearly. He's still slow to react but once his legs finally get the message his brain has been sending— _get the hello out!_ —he does.

Boomer is pretty much emotionless the rest of the day. The interaction with Butch was traumatizing, but no more so than the worst days of his childhood. In reality, being emotionless is the only tool Boomer possess. He can't fight back, he can't get even, not if he wants to stay invisible. Stay alive.

Most days, Boomer wishes he'd never been a part of this family, but even when he does nothing, stays quiet, stays inviable, he's sucked into this fucked up life. The massive web of violence, lies, and revenge his brothers and father have created.

Later, at dinner, when Brick coldly asks why he looks like he's seen a ghost, Boomer says nothing. Brick doesn't really care, he only asks because he can spot a secret from a mile away. Brick always wants to know everything.

Boomer's mood only worsens for the rest of the night. He doesn't touch his sketch pad or play his music. He doesn't even sleep, staring at the ceiling and picturing a gun staring back. He tries to shake the image away but the gun follows him wherever he turns. In the morning, when he wakes, he's already dreading the rest of the day. Usually, his days, although boring and lonely, are full of so much color, shapes, and textures. Things he wants to capture on paper. But today, everything is this same sad shade of dark blue, almost gray.

Shit. It's a blue period. Boomer hates his blue periods.

He tries to force himself out of this depressing state by sketching but nothing is coming out right. By homeroom, he's resigned to just give up when he hears this small sound and it reminds him of bells—no,  _chimes_. Bells are purposeful but chimes only sing with the wind. He turns to face the giggling cheerleader. He sees his first hint of color since his run-in with Butch, the subtle hint of pink on her blushing cheeks. She ruins it by talking and then by talking some more.

He gets it. He's the bad guy and she's the sweet innocent girl. He's really not that bad. Really. But while his brothers have some insane, probably no good, intrest in her sisters, Boomer is the asshole because he knows about all of it and does nothing. Nothing. He's letting his brothers get away with it.

He may not be all the horrible things this school thinks about him, but he is a bad guy. He's an uncaring, selfish, spineless guy.

But then, something odd happens. The nervous blond, Bubbles, apologizes. She wants to be  _friends_. With him. No good Boomer. The idea is startling. Boomer has never had friends. He almost doesn't know what to do, but then as the class goes on, the color of the world returns and nothing is more vibrant than the yellow of her hair and the sky blue of her eyes.

Boomer has never had a blue period end this quickly before. He's almost terrified about what it means to let go of the reason for that. The giggling cheerleader. Her life must always look like this, like rainbows and clear skies, full of vibrant, warm colors.

She walks ahead of him and Boomer feels the importance of this moment. He could let her go, away from the mess of his life, or he can be  _friendly_. He can use her for all the color she has and all the clarity she brings to his dull, gray world. He could be self-sacrificing or he could be like his brothers, selfish.

Boomer is quick to stand. " _Morning_." He whispers as he passes her.

He chose to be selfish.

* * *

 

Butch hardly feels bad for the shit he does, but this feels skeevy even for him.

Boomer's drawing proved useless. No one he asked in the Rot recognized her, which meant Boomer's ID was the only thing he had to go on. Not that he doubted Boomer, he seemed like he was telling the truth. Normally, blue boy is good at lying, since he's already so good at hiding his emotions, not nearly as good as Brick but that bastard is a psychopath and has no emotions.

So, here he finds himself, stalking high school girls in search of this Buttercup. Even as sneaky as Butch can be, this seems awfully suspicious. He blends in well, though, as he is only 17 himself, and every time he approaches the wrong girl he can get away with flirting with them. He already has six phone numbers. Man, if only he didn't have to stay hidden, he'd gladly make use of these numbers.

At one point he is able to sneak into school and tries to find Boomer. If he recognized the girl then she must be in at least one of his classes. But of course, he doesn't find Boomer because the little shit is so fucking good at being invisible. He could show the drawing to someone, but if that person knows Buttercup then she'll be tipped off and then who knows what the little fire cracker would do. Go tell a teacher? The cops? HIM?

No fucking way.

His phone buzzes, alerting him to a message from Ace. It's a phone from Ace with only his number on it. He keeps insisting they hang out, and talk, and all this unnecessary bullshit. And God! It's exhausting. All they've been doing for the past week is "hanging out", which by the way is so fucking boring. They are not twelve anymore, hanging out getting drunk, or stoned, playing video games is not his idea of a fun time. Spending time together must be Ace's way of trying to build their trust, or some shit. But seriously, who is he going to go to? And if Butch wanted them dead so badly (he does but like, bigger picture and shit), they would be dead.

The message reads,  _Kegger. 2night. U pick up_.

A demand disguised as an invitation. Fucking Ace. Five years and he thinks he's the boss? Butch begins to skulk out of the school, his mood spoiled. Looking down at his phone he almost runs into a teacher. He stops and presses up against a trophy case, keeping himself hidden. He watches as the teacher slowly walks away.

Shit. That was close. He doesn't know how Boomer does it. Being invisible is harder than it looks. Butch makes to leave when a picture grabs his attention. Next to a trophy there's a photo of a girl's team. Soccer. And right in the middle is the little fire cracker herself. Buttercup.

Gotcha.

Butch is not a patient guy, so by the time soccer practice ends his mood is near volcanic and he is ready to erupt. He just wants to get this over with. Of course, he's going to have a little fun first. Who can resist a pretty girl in shorts? Not him. What is he suppose to do? Not say something? Please. Not his style.

"I love a girl in shorts." He smirks. "Not that I'm a leg man, but a little skin never hurt." Before she can try to get away he grabs and pulls her back. He doesn't intend to pull her so close to him, but she is practically dead weight in his hands. " _Hola_ ,  _bonita_. I've been looking all over for you. We need to talk."

"I don't know what you're talking about. Let me go!" She grits, keeping her head faced away from him.

"Oh. Not gonna work, Buttercup." She freezes. "Didn't think I knew your name, huh?" He leans in closer, "I know a lot more than you think and— **FUCK**!" Butch doubles over, cradling his favorite body part, "AUH! You  **BITCH**!"

Buttercup slips from his weakened hold and runs off. Butch struggles to get up and chases after her. It's an awkward chase, Buttercup, although much faster, is weighed down by her backpack and duffle bag and Butch, honestly, is just trying to focus on his breathing and will himself not to cry. No need to be any more humiliated than he already is.

Honestly, his boys? Low blow. This chick is pure evil.

Thankfully the street is long, narrow, and deserted with hardly any side roads. Wherever she was going, this was clearly a shortcut. For a girl with such an important secret she clearly doesn't care about her safety much.

"Hey! Stop! I just want to talk!" Butch yells, but of course the girl keeps running. She makes a turn down an alley way and Butch stops. He can try to keep chasing her, but he knows how that will end. Instead, Butch runs back towards his car. He hid it a few blocks away from the school, not wanting anyone to spot him.

He drives down the street she ran through and finds both her backpack and duffle bag thrown on the ground near a fence. Butch circles around but can't find her, he's sure she must have hidden somewhere, because as fast as she is she can't out run his car. He has her corned, but he won't find her from inside his car.

Butch goes back to the fence and picks up her bags. He searches through them, hoping to find something when he hears a buzzing. Inside her duffle, her phone lights up with a text message.

_You coming?_  Sent by Mitch.

He looks through her phone and finds the pictures she took of his car and of him. He deletes all of them. He keeps searching her phone and finds pictures of different people. In one picture there's a group photo of Buttercup next to two other girls, a blond and redhead, and a middle-aged man. He keeps looking and finds a video.

He plays the video and the blond from the other photo pops up in a girly bathing suit.  _"Happy Birthday, Daddy! So, I'm using Buttercup's phone because someone"_  the blond pouts and looks off screen  _"just had to push me into the lake! Even though I had my phone on me!"_  The screen moves and Buttercup enters the screen.  _"I said my bad! Learn to take a joke!"_  She laughs. The phone then moves suddenly, and he can't make out anything but blurry trees. When the phone stops the redhead from the same group photo is facing the screen. _"Sorry about that, dad. Anyway, we would like to wish you a very happy birthday and as always, we wish you were here."_  She kisses the screen. Buttercup and the blond appear behind the redhead and all three begin to sing,  _"Happy birthday to you! Happy birthday to you! Happy birthday dear DAD! Happy birthday to you!"_  All three laugh,  _"We love you!"_

The video ends.

Butch smirks, partly because the video is corny as hell and partly because he has what he needs to draw out that Buttercup chick. He gets out of his car, phone in hand, and starts walking. He plays the video and turns up the volume as loud as possible. The video plays on a loop as he walks. He doesn't say anything, but he doesn't need to. The threat is obvious.

_Talk to me. Or I'll talk to your sisters._

A few minutes pass and nothing. Now Butch is really getting impatient. "FINE! Your sisters are hotter, anyway! Maybe they'll be willing to talk to me!"

"You stay the fuck away from them!" Buttercup yells, jumping out from behind him. He turns just as she barrels into him. Normally, the force wouldn't be enough to throw him but she had a running start. Also, she's using a trash can lid as a shield.

"Ahh! Fuck!" Butch yells as he goes down, hitting his head on the ground. The force throws Buttercup down and on top of him. She grabs her phone and scrambles to get off of him. Butch turns and grabs her ankle, pulling her back down. She falls and hits her knees. Ouch. That must hurt.

"Ugh! Let go of me!" She tries kicking him with her free leg, but Butch grabs her other foot. He flips her over and pulls her legs, dragging her under him. Closer now, she swings her arms and nails him a few times on the head and scratches him right under his left eye.

" _Christ_! Would you calm the fuck down! I'm just trying to talk to you!" She ignores him and continues to struggle. Butch climbs on top of her pinning her legs with his knees then reaches over and pins her arms over her head. With her limbs held down, she is less of a threat.

Or so he thinks.

"Okay, now. Would you just listen—" Butch doesn't get to finish his sentence as Buttercup swings her head up, head butting him in the nose. " **Motherfucker**!" Butch yells in pain. He lets go of one hand as he holds his bloody nose.

Buttercup squirms, trying to use her free hand to hit him again. But fuck no! Butch is  **done**. He is beyond  **pissed**! "I said," Butch growls, slamming both her wrists on the ground. "Calm. The.  **Fuck**. Down!" Using his free hand he pulls out a pocket knife and holds it up to her neck. She stills instantly.

"I really didn't want to use this. But you left me no choice. Now are you gonna be the good girl I know you can be and fucking listen! Or are we gonna have to do this the hard way?" Butch digs the point of his knife into her skin to make his point clear. He is done fucking around.

She winces slightly, but continues to glare at him. Her whole body, from her deep, angry breaths, her curled fists, her snarl, and her unwavering glare are like a giant fuck you and as irritated as Butch is, he has to say, he's a little impressed.

Where the fuck did HIM find her?

"Well?" Butch asks, digging the knife deeper into her neck. Buttercup finally looks away from him and down at the knife. Good. Finally, they're getting somewhere.

"How do I know you just won't kill me?" She grits.

"Pfft, don't be silly. I have some questions for you first. Then, depending on how nicely you answer, I might let you live."

She pouts. Butch can tell she's bitting her tongue, probably holding back some stupid comeback. Butch kinda wishes she'd say it, but he really needs to get this over with.

"I don't do nice." She says instead.

"How about honest? Tell me everything you know. Why did HIM hire you? Does he know about Ace? How did you know where to find me?"

Buttercup's glare melts away as her lime-green eyes grow wide "What?"

"Don't play cute with me. As you can tell, I'm not exactly a patient guy. Why did HIM hire you? What does he know?"

Buttercup shakes her head, "I don't…I don't know…"

"Don't fuck with me!" Butch presses the knife deeper, drawing blood.

"Arrgghh! I don't know what the fuck you're talking about!" Buttercup begins to shake underneath him.

"Yes, you do! Tell me!" Butch growls, pressing the knife just a tiny bit further.

"Ahhh! No, I don't know. I don't know HIM! I don't know any Ace! I don't know who the fuck you're talking about!" Buttercup almost pleads, trying to remain strong through her fear. Stubborn to the bitter end.

"Then why were you looking for me! Tell me the truth!" Butch presses down his knees, increasing the weight on top of her. She grunts in pain and start to squirm, which only makes the knife dig deeper.

"Because! I know…I know…I know what you did! I know… who you killed!"

Butch freezes. "What?" he asks releasing some of his weight.

"I know…I know you…killed Jeremy…Jeremy Kenny!" Buttercup grunts. "You ran him over…I saw…I saw the whole thing!"

Butch relaxes a bit. Oh. That's who she thinks he killed. But, wait. That's means…that means she can't be working for HIM. Unless HIM is keeping her in the dark about his whole plan. But then why would he send her looking for him? Unless…she has no fucking clue about any of this. Which would me she was A, telling the truth and really was looking for parts and just happened to find him or B, looking for the guy who killed Jeremy, as in on purpose. That's fucking stupid who the fuck would put themselves in that position?

"Do…Do you know who I am?" Butch glares.

"Does it matter?" Buttercup spits.

"What about HIM? Or Ace?"

"I don't know who the fuck they are! I mean HIM is that rich guy, right? And I don't know who the hell this Ace guy is but that's all!"

"Swear to me or I'll slit your neck." Butch growls, pushing his face close to her. Close enough to see gold flecks mixed with the greens of her eyes, and close enough to see the almost invisible freckles on her nose. He needs to know. He needs to make sure.

Buttercup grunts, throwing her head back, "I swear! I have no clue what the fuck you're talking about!" Her eyes glisten, unshed tears coating her eyes. Chick this tough proabbly doesn't cry easy. That means she's telling the truth. Butch drops his head, resting it on her collarbone, "Fuck." He sighs then he pockets his knife and gets off her. Buttercup sits up, clutching the small cut on her neck. She catches her breath as she glares up at him.

Butch grins, "Well, this is a little awkward."

Buttercup snorts, "What? Not gonna kill me anymore?"

Butch rolls his eyes and reaches his hand forward to help her up, "Okay, I don't know what you're damage is, but do you have like a death wish or something? You're first question when you have dirt on someone isn't if they're going to kill you but what they're willing to do for you to keep you quiet. Blackmail 101."

Buttercup glares at his hand and slaps it away, getting up on her own. "And I should be taking crime lessons from you, why? You're like the worst criminal, ever. You seriously just gonna let me go?"

Butch laughs, "You are unbelievable! Who the fuck are you?"

"Who the fuck are you?" Buttercup counters.

Butch smirks, "Why? So you can go to the cops? Please, if you had anything you'd would have gone to them already. What I don't get is how a girl like you manage to get mixed up in all this."

Buttercup shrugs, "Wrong place. Wrong time. Doesn't mean it's right what you did. And I was the only one there, so yeah, "a girl like me" is the only that can go to the police, but those lazy, fat fucks, couldn't catch a blind mice with a block of cheese. I had to give them something."

"So what? You playing hero?" Butch asks, puzzled by why anyone would go out of their way to do that. No one with two brain cells would be stupid enough to put themselves in that kind of situation.

Buttercup looks away and shrugs.

Butch sighs in frustration. "Ugh! Fuck! I didn't kill him, okay! It wasn't me!"

Buttercup snorts, "Right like I believe that. You haven't exactly convinced me you're innocent in all this." She points to the cut on her neck, "You haven't exactly made the best of impressions."

"Honestly, I'm guilty of a lot of things, but this shit went on behind my back. I had nothing to do with it! I'm innocent! I swear!"

Buttercup glares at him then begins to walk closer. She stops a few inches away from him. Her head reaches his neck but she glares up at him. Bight green eyes peering into his dark forest eyes. There's nothing innocent about him, so if she's trying to find the truth in his gaze, Butch might be shit out of luck.

"We done here?" She hisses.

"What?" Butch blinks.

"Are you gonna kill me or not?" She juts out her chin trying to appear tough, but Butch catches the slight shake of her plum lip. Damn, Butch always had a weakness for pretty ladies.

Butch sighs, "No. I'm not gonna kill you."

She nods her heads and pushes past him.

"You don't believe me, do you?" Butch calls after her.

She turns her head, "What do you think?"

She walks away slowly and with a slight limp. This is bad. This is really bad. Butch has enough to deal with and if Buttercup goes to the cops then it won't be too long before HIM hears about it. She doesn't know his name, but this girl is stubborn (and stupid), she probably won't reset until she finds out all about him. While crazy and impressive her actions might be they do interfere with his plans. He can't kill her, so he can't get rid of her. That leaves him with only one option.

"Hey! Hero girl!" He yells out.

"What the fuck do you want!" She calls back, not turning around. Butch runs up to her and blocks her path.

"I thought you said you were letting me go?" She asks with irritation. Well, fuck, and she's irritated? Seriously, no sympathy from this girl.

"Listen, you want to catch the bad guys, right? You want to get back at those sons of bitches?"

Buttercup crosses her arms, "And why should I trust you?"

Butch groans in frustration, "Fine! You want trust. I'll give you trust." He runs back to pick up the phone she left on the ground then runs back to where she stands, punching in a number as he goes. "Here. I put my number in your contacts, under my real name. Fairs fair, right? I know you're name, now you'll know mine."

Buttercup frowns, "That doesn't exactly make you trustworthy."

"This will," Butch says, handing her the sim card Ace gave him. "This has all the proof you'll need."

"How do you know I won't go the cops with this?" Buttercup asks, confusion written all over her face.

"Okay, fire cracker, you're lucky you're dealing with me, because you would have been dead like five times over for all the shit you've said. Seriously, tone it the fuck down. I don't know if you'll go to the cops or not but I hope you don't, and not just for my sake. The cops are more than lazy, fat fucks. They'll turn on you. Don't trust them. Look over the card first. You'll see I'm telling the truth."

"And if you are?" Buttercup questions, looking down at the sim card in her hand.

Butch grabs her chin and tilts it up, "Then,  _bonita_ , if you're not scared off. Call me." He winks. Butch walks away feeling pretty good about the situation. Stubborn and crazy she may be, but no girl can resit his charm. He looks backs, an irresistible smirk on his face that he's sure will win her over. She stands in the same spot, not breathless as he imagined he left her, but with a frown on her face and a middle finger pointed at him. Butch quickly turns back around and continues walking.

What the fuck did he just get himself into?

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Note!
> 
> Butch is in a pickle! His good looks and charm won't help him with this girl, no sir! Also, quick question, Did I make Birck too whiny in this chapter? I wanted to show a little more emotion with him, and he is an entitled brat so...yeah, was it to ooc? I don't know. Only two people get under his skin, HIM and now Blossom. Also, Boomer may seem a little too weepy but there is a reason behind it! Bear with me, the happy blues you all know and love will eventually emerge!
> 
> Whoa, this chapter took much, MUCH, longer than I intended it. It's such an important chapter like so much happens and I just could not get it right, but I'm glad I gave myself time to finish without being rushed because I did end up changing a lot of things and I'm really excited for how it turned out! And I hope you all like it too! On the plus side (for taking so long to post), this is my longest chapter yet! 70 pages on WORD! Wow!
> 
> Okay, also, this may be premature, but I'm really excited to share that I'm writing another Powerpuff girls story! I was working on it while I had writer's block for this chapter. It's a small story, around 10 chapters. I've only outlined it and I've written a little of it, but I think I'm gonna post it. Not all at once but once I have half of it written, hopefully sometime during the summer. It will be like a little break from this story, that I promise I won't abandoned. I have so much planned for this story and it's going to be really long, so the other story will be a much shorter story and a bit of a writing exercise.
> 
> Also, I want to give a MASSIVE THANK YOU to everyone that left Kudos! There were a lot more from the last chapter so I'm really excited about that!  
> 
> sweetsiren: As always thank you for your kind words! I love reviews and I especially love the people who comment on every chapter! And yes, they will eventually get their powers. That will happen at the end of arch two, we are still in asrch one. ;) 

**Author's Note:**

> FYI: I did originally post this story on FF last year, but I figured I should post this here, which is why there are 4 chapters available so far!  
> Just to clarify some things, this will be an origins story to how the girls got their powers and eventually became the powerpuff girls. So yes, prior to that they are just your typical normal girls. In fact, everyone is normal in this story, including villains. All major villains, and some minor one, will make an appearance in this story. And yes, that includes the boys! So there will be major PPGXRRB stuff going down. 
> 
> One last note!  
> The girls will have the same basic characteristics as they did in the show, but I want the characters to grow and for it to seem organic. The girls just lost their father, and they're in high school. They're going to have insecurities, they're going to be sad, and angry, and they're going to act out a little. They're going to worry about what other's think of them—what boys think of them. So yeah, they're not the super confident superheroes they are in the show. But remember it is an origins story. So yea.


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